What Will They Discover?
by Taylor Robinson
Summary: A new agent is added to the x-files after Krycek's disappearance and before Scully fully recovers from her abduction. She unwittingly gets wrapped up in the alien conspiracy while CSM hopes to use her as a pawn against Mulder. What secrets will be uncovered? Does not completely follow plot of show. Rated T for now, might go up in later chapters. SkinnerXOC, light MulderXScully
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I perch on my seat in the alcove before the doorway of Assistant Director Skinner's office.

"Agent Simonson, Agent Skinner can see you know," his secretary informs me. I swallow my nervousness and force a smile in her direction. First day in the FBI, nothing to be worried about. Nothing Quantico hadn't prepared me for.

I walk in and try not to let my eyes wander about the spacious office too much. I read supervisors don't like that. So, I walk in and approach the desk. An older man with glasses flips through a file, not yet acknowledging my presence. As the silence stretches, my uncertainty intensifies. Finally, I decide he is looking for a show of initiative.

"Assistant Director Skinner, I'm Agent Simonson." I stretch out my hand, but he doesn't look up at me. One of my mentors at Quantico warned that Agent Skinner is brusque, but this is even more severe than I expected. I withdrawal my hand somewhat awkwardly.

"Take a seat, Agent Simonson." I stop myself from rushing to comply; instead, I ease myself into the chair and recline slightly, pretending the coldness in my boss's gaze hasn't rattled my already tense nerves. I've never had a problem making a good first impression before. Seems there's a first time for everything. It's a shame, too, since I find him rather handsome despite being a decade or two my senior.

"So, you've been assigned to my division." He leans back in his chair, and a microglance at the file he was reading reveals my name: my personnel file, no doubt.

"It seems that way, sir. It's good to meet you." I smile but get only a scrutinizing stare in response.

"Did you request the major crimes division when you graduated?" He's not one for pleasantries, that's for sure.

"I did, sir. It wasn't my first choice, but I'm happy to be here."

"What was your first choice?" His voice his tight, his gaze unforgiving.

"Research, specifically on criminal pathologies, but it's no matter. I'm here now, and I'm excited to get started with casework. That is why I joined the FBI, after all." He doesn't react to my statement verbally or visually. We sit in silence for what feels like a full minute.

"New recruits aren't usually placed in such a rigorous division. There's no room for mistakes in this field, and I certainly have no time to hold your hand through the process."

"I assure you that won't be necessary." I realize too late that he wasn't finished with his statement, and I accidently interrupted him. His stare darkens, which I didn't think was possible.

"As I was saying, this is no place for a green Quantico graduate. If this wasn't your first choice, I can't seem to fathom why you would be assigned here." There is a long enough pause that I decide it is safe to answer.

"Sir, if I may postulate, my exam results were all in the top percentile, as I know you know," I say with a nod to the file on his desk. "I know I don't have much experience, but I'm a fast learner, and I won't weigh you or my partner down. Perhaps there wasn't an opening at the research division but there was in your jurisdiction, which accounts for my presence here." His jaw clenches.

"We do have an agent temporarily missing his partner, but she is recovering and will be returning to duty soon. As it is, he has been handling his casework without problems."

"Well, I shouldn't think I will be too much of a burden if I'm only serving here in the interim until his partner returns." I say my remark with a smile to soften the scent of smart-ass. "Who is my partner? I haven't been briefed on the details of my assignment yet." He stands and turns around to look out the wall of windows.

"Agent Simonson, did you happen to make any enemies down at Quantico?" My eyes inadvertently widen. I'm glad he's not facing me so that instinctual reaction goes unnoted. Apprehension about my assignment is growing in the pit of my stomach.

"Sir? None come to mind? Forgive my incomprehension, but what would inspire such a question?" He turns around again and tosses a case file in my lap. I hesitate a heartbeat to open it, unsure if this is my assignment. It must be.

I review the summary page – incidents of what appear to be animal maulings in the New Jersey area. Gruesome, but I didn't come to the FBI expecting cupcakes and rainbows, so I doubt that would inspire Agent Skinner's question about enemies. I look for the primary agent's name, certain that will be my partner. My eyes widen once again, and I glance up at my boss.

"Agent Mulder is working on this case?" He sits again, still stoic and unreadable.

"I take it you've heard of him."

"Of course, his profiling work is still mandatory curriculum." I struggle to keep my enthusiasm from my voice. Maybe this is why I was assigned here instead of research. Profiling is similar to criminal pathology. Maybe the Bureau wants me to have experience with casework before moving into a more hands-off division, and working with Agent Mulder is a rather prestigious assignment. This could just be the first step in ultimately landing where I asked to be. But why would Agent Skinner ask if I've made enemies?

I realize Agent Skinner spoke and get out of my head and into the present. Replaying what happened, I remember Agent Skinner asked if I am familiar with Agent Mulders more current work. I shrug.

"I looked up his most recent casefiles when we went over his profiling of the Manhattan Murderer. They were a bit more…sundry than I expected an agent of his stature to be working on, but I only had access to the past three cases, figured it was a happenstance that such unusual cases had ended up under his review all at the same time."

"No fluke was involved. Agent Mulder has a penchant for the…unusual." This meeting keeps getting stranger.

"Forgive my saying so, but animal maulings don't seem that unusual. Unfortunate, certainly, but most likely not even criminal. The most unusual aspect of this case I can see is that the FBI is looking into it." That, for some reason, makes him crack a smile.

"If you always see things quite so black and white, you'll be a thorn in Mulder's side the entirety of your partnership." That doesn't sound promising.

Silence grows while I try to find something odd about this file. It is clear Agent Skinner isn't about to tell me, and I suspect this is a test to see if I'm as good as my test scores indicate. I flip through the first few pages of the file before anything jumps out at me. Then the gears click in my head, and I double check my hunch, and then double check the dates.

"These three maulings, they all happened about a month apart, and," I hesitate, almost embarrassed to say the tenuous pattern I noticed, "on the full moon, if I'm not mistaken." He nods once. This is definitely not how I expected my first day would go.

"I'll let Agent Mulder fill you in on the rest of the details. His office is on the Basement floor. Take the elevator down and head left. His office is towards the end of the hall on the right."

"Thank you for your time, Sir." Casefile in hand, I head down to the basement to meet Agent Mulder and hopefully figure out why Agent Skinner thought my assignment is so awful as to only be explainable due to enemies in high places. Although, if this first case file is any indication, it's because Agent Mulder is chasing werewolves. What a great way to start my career at the FBI.

 **A/N: The story is pretty plot heavy initially (as we all know Skinner would take time to warm up to someone), but if you're just here for OC/Skinner stuff, you might want to skip ahead to chapter 6.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: this story is primarily being written to showcase a romance between Skinner and my OC. Since we all know Skinner would take a while to warm up to someone, it will be plot-heavy initially, but I promise it will pick up. Reviews are always appreciated!**

Chapter Two

As the elevator ticks down the floors, I wrangle my emotions. I didn't make it through Quantico to get scared off by a brusque Assistant Director and an eccentric first case. Whatever Assistant Director Skinner's suspicions, I'm sure this is a genuine random happenstance. I didn't make a single enemy at Quantico. If anything, whoever gave me this assignment thought it would benefit me since Agent Mulder is famous for his profiling work…no matter what his current interests are. I put my abysmally poor first meeting with my boss to the back of my mind and focus on getting off on the right foot with my temporary partner, the famous Agent Mulder.

The elevator doors open to the dismally dark and gray basement hallway, and the trepidation I had squashed flares again. Maybe this some elaborate hazing ritual. Taking a deep breath, I follow Agent Skinner's directions to the end of the hallway. There are a few doors in between the elevator and the end of the hallway, but they are all clearly marked "storage". At the end, I take a closer look at one and realize that it has been converted to an office. I knock on the partially adjacent door.

"Come in." He sounds bored and somewhat irritable. I'd better tread carefully. I walk in, and the first think I notice is a UFO poster on the back wall with the words "I want to believe." Interesting. Agent Mulder sits at his desk, sitting up straighter when I come into view.

"Hi, I'm-"

"You must be lost." He takes one look at me and decides that? I must really give off a newbie vibe.

"No, I don't think so. I'm looking for Agent Mulder." He's visibly surprised, but he conceals it quickly.

"Well, then you're right, you're not lost. What do I owe the pleasure, Agent…?"

"Simonson, Agent Laila Simonson." I step into the office and shake his hand from across the desk. "I just met with Assistant Director Skinner. It seems we are to be partners until your previous partner is ready for duty again." His face has darkened considerably. I've clearly gone from the young bimbo who wandered into his office to a threat. To his relationship with his partner? To his work? To him?

"There must be some mistake," he grits out, standing.

"I don't think so; Agent Skinner was very specific." I try to change the subject. "He gave me the latest case you've been working on – these animal maulings." No luck. He's pacing around and slamming file drawers, highly irritated.

"Look, let's get one thing straight. You are not my partner. We are not working on this case together. I want nothing to do with you, and there is nothing you can do to earn my trust. You need to sit here, report back to whoever, fine. But don't expect me to make your job easy."

I stand stock still for a moment, my mouth agape. Collecting myself, I square my stance.

"Agent Mulder, I don't know what I've walked into, so I apologize if I have overstepped a boundary. I know the relationship between partners can be sacrosanct, and I promise I have no intention of edging out your partner. I'm just here until she recovers. But I hope in that interim, we can work together." I'm hoping this is what's bothering him. I must have guessed wrong, since he brushes past me and out of the office. Jesus Christ is this day a fine mess.

* * *

Another day, another meeting with the mysterious cigarette smoking man my superior insists on no uncertain terms that I meet with and whose commands I follow to the letter. Well, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of his damn smoke, his damn deception and manipulation, and what are clearly attempts to endanger the lives of my agents Mulder and Scully. I'm no big fan of Mulder myself, but the man means well and he's a damn good agent. Scully, on the other hand, is one of the most respectable people I know and a great agent, and I loathe this man for whatever he did to her. Revenge is out my hands…for now, at least.

I know he's up to some game, but I still haven't figured out what or why. After Agent Krycek disappeared, I've been more and more inclined to believe Agent Mulder's wild theories. Krycek was, no doubt, an informant, a servant of CSM, engineered to fall naturally on a case with Agent Mulder. So the second this new recruit, Simonson was her name, shows up on my agent list, I know to be suspicious. Significantly less artful maneuvering this time. Or maybe I've just seen enough of his work to notice the familiar pattern of pulling strings.

I don't want to believe that this green, enthusiastic agent is working against the Bureau, but I would be naïve to think her gender, age, or beauty excuses her from suspicion. Though how she got caught up with CSM, I hope to never know. I wait the whole meeting for him to even hint at Mulder's new partner, but it isn't until the very end he reveals his hand.

Casually, he picks up her personnel file, but his sneering tone is too manufactured to be authentic.

"You have a new agent under your supervision?" He paws through the file while his cigarette pollutes my office.

"Yes, unfortunately. She's fresh from Quantico, completely inexperienced."

"Our agents all have to start somewhere, Agent Skinner. Excellent exam scores I see, top one percent of her class, and a looker if her ID photo is any indication." I ignore that last comment – I try not to notice those sorts of things about the agents who report to me, but he's not wrong. "I don't see the problem."

"Agent Mulder isn't exactly the easiest agent to get your feet wet with. Besides, he's not likely to be accepting of a new partner, temporary or not." His eyes glint mischievously.

"I'm sure they'll make friends eventually." Just then, who but Agent Mulder comes bursting through my door. Behind him, I hear my secretary's scandalized cries at Mulder's disregard for my schedule. His face is flushed and his fists are clenched. I rise to my feet.

"Agent Mulder, is there a problem?" I let my annoyance at his interruption show.

"So sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but I need to discuss something with you, Agent Skinner."

"It can wait, Mulder," I grit out. Controlling this man and cleaning up his messes is taking years off of my life.

"Don't mind me, Agents. I'll see myself out," CSM quips as he deposits his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray on my desk. As soon as he's out the door, Mulder launches into a tirade.

"Sir, please tell me I am not the only one who sees what is happening here."

"Settle down, Agent Mulder," I order. I don't appreciate that tone he's taking. He takes a deep breath and manages to continue somewhat more calmly.

"Scully is barely awake, Krycek's desk is still warm, suddenly this new agent appears, and is assigned to the x-files no less? It's so blatant I almost think they're just toying with us." I hold up a hand to stop him, lest CSM is lingering within ear shot.

"I agree the timing does arouse suspicion. But I don't have time to be babysitting you or her. Unless you think she's a threat to your life, at least try to get along for the sake of appearances… and in case we're wrong and she really does just have awful luck. Either way, this is temporary, so there's no need to lose your head."

"Did he mention her?" I almost don't want to tell him the truth – for both of their sakes. I can't have Mulder murdering his new partner, and I'd rather not have her murdered until suspicions against her are supported with evidence.

"He saw her file and looked at it," I admit. Mulder shakes his head.

"I'll be handling this case solo – I'm sure you understand."

"Unofficially, yes. Officially, I have to demand you work with your partner." He just pouts like a child, giving me a dismissive wave, and storms out of my office. Why I even try to reason with him, I don't know.

* * *

Mulder returns a few minutes later looking just as angry as he did when he left. I'm going to try an olive branch all the same.

"I was looking over this case file, and it seems like the incidents have been concentrated around this Native American reservation. I was thinking it might be serving as a nature preserve, and thus there is a higher than normal incident of big cats and bears in the area." He looks at me coldly for a few seconds before shrugging.

"Could be. I hadn't really thought much of it." His tone is apathetic, but his eyes still flash with anger. He sits down at his desk and resumes reading today's newspaper. I'm surprised by his cavalier attitude regarding the case.

"Going off of the past three incidents, they have a cyclical pattern to them. Granted, we only have three events, so it could be coincidental, but that cycle is due in the next few days. Shouldn't the local forces be warned, at the very least?" He shrugs again, flipping a page.

"I guess." I stifle a sigh.

"You don't seem too concerned. Can you at least explain why the FBI was looking into simple, albeit awful, accidents?" He shrugs.

"They all happened on federal land, so it's FBI jurisdiction. And it's good to look into these sorts of things. Lets the local people know we have their best interests at heart." His voice is too sugarly condescending to be honest.

"Well, if these are just unfortunate accidents, shouldn't we close the case? I would be happy to do it myself, but they didn't really teach those procedures. Would you mind if I observed your work, or if that's too much trouble, if there's a manual available," Mulder cuts me off.

"Sure, of course you can see how to close a case. I mean, it will probably take me most of the day, given my busy schedule."

"Really, I'm happy to help," I start before I catch the sarcasm. Him lazily turning back to the newspaper is what clues me in. I glance around the office for something to do, but I get the feeling riffling through Agent Mulder's files won't endear myself to him.

"I'm going to step out for some fresh air. In the off chance something comes up, give me a call." I slide my card across his desk, but he doesn't even acknowledge it. I need to make a call to some of my former professors at Quantico and figure out if everyone's first day goes like this. And how I can make my partner – temporary or not – not hate me.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"I'm serious. I've never met anyone like these two. One of the first full sentences my boss said to me was if I had made any enemies at Quantico. And then I find out I'm assigned with Agent Mulder, so I'm thinking, what's he talking about this, that can't be so bad. But then I meet the man, and right off the bat, just like the Assistant Director, he hates me and acts I'm a she-witch come to steal his casefiles." It's been a while since I spoke with my criminology professor, so he's the first call I make. He's always a beacon of hope and expertise.

"I'm sorry your first day has been such a mess."

"Is it…some sort of hazing ritual perhaps?"

"God, I wish," he says with a laugh. "Better that than you've been stuck with two of what sound like the most unpleasant agents in the Bureau. But I don't you will be so fortunate as to find out this is a prank." I sigh.

"Any advice? I've never had people hate me just for being before."

"This can't be more than a two-week assignment, so I would just suggest you keep your chin up, don't give them a reason to hate you, don't sink to their level of hostility, and take the first opportunity you have to get out of this assignment."

"I'll do my best. Thanks for the advice, Jim."

"Anytime, Lalia. I know you won't let this bring you down. You're going to have a long career with the Bureau, I'm sure of it. You've been one of my brightest and most ambitious students." I can't help but smile at his praise and encouragement. It helps facing the situation back in Agent Mulder's office a little easier.

On the elevator ride down, an older gentleman is already in the car. He smells strongly of cigarettes and I struggle to not make a face at the stink.

"First day?" he asks. God, what, am I wearing a sign around my neck?

"Yeah. Do you mind telling me what it is about me that makes it so obvious?" He chuckles, but it sets my teeth on edge.

"You're nervous and uncertain," he states simply, instantly making me even more self-conscious. "And you're wearing your badge around your neck. There's no need for that," he says with a smile, "but everyone does it at first." I hastily take the badge off, stuffing it in a pocket.

"Thanks for letting me know." Finally, the elevator has lurched its way the couple of floors to the basement. Just as I'm about to step off, he calls after me.

"Agent, if you're having problems with your partner, I would be too concerned about it. I'm sure if you keep your nose clean and your head down, it will go away sooner than you think." There seems to be some sort of threat buried in there. Does he know me somehow?

"I…how did you know there's problems?"

"It's more common than you think on first assignments. Just remember what I said: keep your head down, and your problems with your partner will soon go away. And, may I add, at will likely be great personal benefit to you." I stare at him somewhat dumbfounded. "I'm sure we'll see each other more and have the chance to get more acquainted." I step off, still uncertain what to make of this man and the horrible feeling he evokes in the pit of my stomach.

"Aren't you getting off?" I ask stupidly.

"Oh, no, I just like going along for the ride." The doors shut, and I almost wonder if I imagined the whole conversation. I have half a thought to ask Agent Mulder if he knows the man, but I decided against it when he doesn't acknowledge my presence when I walk in. I sit at the only other desk in the room, which unfortunately means sitting at his previous and future partner's desk. Lacking a task, though I do offer to help with anything he needs, which does not garner any acknowledgement, I review every detail of the case Agent Mulder claims can be closed.

I find that at every accident scene, there were traces of wolf hair on the victims' bodies as well as injuries that could not be attributed to any known pattern of animal attack. A wolf pack would not maul the victims senselessly but rather consume the person, and numerous animals should be able to identified from the wounds, but only one animal's dental marks could be seen. Fascinatingly enough, the FBI coroner stated it is almost certainly the same animal (clear from the teeth patterns left in the flesh) that was involved in each attack. Finally, near two of the crime scenes, bare, human footprints were identified leading towards the Native American reservation. The more I read, the less I can believe. The only logical explanation I can arrive at is that the FBI has gone all out on this prank. I even double check the dates – each attack occurred exactly on the full moon.

"If we weren't closing this case, I would fashion myself a wooden stake."

"Those are for vampires. I think you meant silver bullets." I can't believe that is what got a response from him. Maybe he can't resist the opportunity to correct a woman.

"Oh, yeah, I guess you're right. Kind of eerie, this is." He shrugs.

"Nothing more than rogue animal attacks." After that, we don't speak again until I wish him a good evening as I walk out the door exactly at 5 PM. Jesus, I thought working at the FBI would be a little more exciting than twiddling my thumbs in an office with a hostile coworker.

I make my way to the metro station on autopilot. Maybe tomorrow I won't even bother going down to Agent Mulder's office and instead try to make friends with some other agents, familiarize myself with the building. Satisfied with my plan, I am able to have a relatively stress-free evening.

In the morning, my resolve to not even stop by the office evaporates. Maybe he was giving me the cold shoulder yesterday to test my dedication. I should at least show him I'm not intimidated by his attitude. That plan goes out the window, however, when I get to the basement office and find the door locked, no light showing under the door. I knock a few times, increasingly loudly. No answer. My uneasiness grows.

He could just be late, but despite his caviler attitude yesterday, I can't help but assume he is a dedicated agent. He never gave me his card, but surely someone has his home or cell number. I start at the security desk, but they send me to operations, who sends me to human resources, but since there is no paperwork officially instating me as Mulder's partner, they cannot give out his personal information to me. So, they suggest I visit our supervisor's office, since he surely has that information and knows I can be trusted with it.

That's how I end up on one of the top floors of the Hoover building, pleading with Assistant Director Skinner's secretary to schedule me for an appointment, or just to let me slip in between meetings, but she refuses since apparently my missing partner is not an emergency. I don't particularly want to bother my gruff boss with something as trivial as my partner's contact information, but I don't see another option. As I'm trying to cajole my way on to the schedule, Agent Skinner himself walks out and spots me.

"Agent Simonson. Is something wrong?" I shift uncomfortably, suddenly self-conscious about ratting out my partner for what might just be a simple case of oversleeping. But, it's now 10:30 and there's still no sign of him.

"Well, sir, I'm not sure. As far as I can tell, Agent Mulder hasn't shown up today, and I don't have a key to the office…or any way to contact him." The more I talk, Agent Skinner's scowl deepens. "I tried going to security and human resources for his contact information, but neither was willing to give it to me; they suggested you would be able to give it to me. I'm sorry to bother you for something so trivial, but I don't have anything else to do." He sighs.

"Linda, hold any calls for the next five minutes," he orders, and, to my surprise, gestures me to follow him into his office. I follow at his heels, not wanting to waste a second of his time. "Mulder hasn't been wanting to share his casefiles?" he asks. I'm reluctant to divulge the details, concerned how it will reflect on me, but I figure there's nothing I can say but the truth.

"That appears to be the case."

"I'm sure you noticed that he wasn't thrilled at the prospect of having a new partner."

"Yeah, he didn't take any pains to conceal that."

"Look, I'll give you his address and cell number." He starts jotting down on a notepad. He knows Mulder's address off the top of his head? Interesting – a little odd. I'll digest that later. "Swing by, make sure he's okay." I take the sheet of paper from Agent Skinner's hand, memorizing the information in case I somehow lose the paper.

"I will, thank you for this information." I already think everything will be fine, and I suspect Agent Mulder will not be home. So then what am I supposed to do? But I don't want to pester Agent Skinner nor come off as a clueless child. I'll figure out my next step on my own. I'm halfway out the door before I whirl around, an idea bubbling up.

"Mulder's previous partner – what is her name?" He looks a little surprised by the question.

"Scully – Dana Scully."

"Thanks," I say with a smile and head out. I don't think I'll find the door to Mulder's place kicked in, and other than obvious signs of a break in, I would have no reason to suspect foul play, but I'll check just in case.

I get to the apartment complex and walk up to the apartment number Agent Skinner gave me. The hinges are intact, no signs of a break in on the lock or door frame. I knock a few times, loud enough to wake anyone sleeping inside. I press my ear to the door, but I don't hear any movement or voices. Then, I call his cellphone. His phone is on, but I'm sent to voicemail all the same. I leave a message, telling him Agent Skinner gave me his number after I couldn't get into the office and asking for him to call me back. After that, I try him once more, but no luck. I'll call periodically throughout the day.

Finding a dead end, as I suspected, I head outside and make a few calls. There are five hospitals in the area, but rather than take five cabs to each and pay a fortune, I'll have the operator connect me to the hospital records department of each. I get lucky on my third try.

"Hi, I'm trying to send an order of flowers to a friend, but I can't remember her room number. I want it to be a surprise – can you help me out?"

"Sure thing, what's her name?" the woman on the other side of the phone says surprisingly cheerfully.

"Scully, Dana Scully." I hear a keyboard clacking.

"Ah, yes, here she is. Room 334N."

"Thank you so much," I say, smile bleeding into my voice. After a call to a cab company, I'm walking into Sibley Memorial, hastily purchased flower arrangement in hand. Since I don't even know the woman, I figure I should come with some sort of gift to lessen the rudeness of my visit.

From the small glass pane in the window, I can see that she is awake and speaking with a nurse. I wait until the nurse comes out, and I quickly ask if Dana is fit for visitors. The woman spies the flower arrangement and waves me right in. From a safety standpoint, this probably shouldn't have been this easy, but for my sake I'm glad it was. And that I don't wish Dana any harm.

"Hi, Agent Scully?" She stiffens at seeing a stranger, so I am quick to identify myself. "My name is Lalia Simonson. I'm new at the Bureau, and I've been assigned temporarily to work with Agent Mulder. I heard that his previous partner was in the hospital, so I just wanted to stop by, check how you were doing. I hope I'm not imposing," I add hastily. She's relaxed some.

"No, it's fine. Always good to have company."

"You're looking well," I say, suddenly feeling foolish for coming all this way to attempt to worm information from her about Mulder's whereabouts. "I take it you'll be back to duty soon?"

"You don't seem too anxious to lose your assignment," she states, somewhat amused. I can't conceal how true that is. She looks at me, obviously assessing me. She seems to come to a decision about if I can be trusted. "Agent Mulder is…slow to trust. I wouldn't take any of his rebuffs personally." She either knows him well or is incredibly insightful. Or both, I realize.

"He hasn't taken to me very well. I thought me maybe resented me for encroaching on his partnership with you."

"It's more likely he doesn't want you near his casework. He can be…paranoid," she states plainly.

"Funny, when I was encouraging pursuing the case, I felt like the paranoid one," I joke. She seems to focus on this.

"It's not like Mulder not to pursue a case," she mutters, more to herself.

"If I'm being perfectly honest, I'm not just here on a social call. Agent Mulder didn't come in to work today, and he doesn't seem to be at his apartment." At first, she looks terrified – afraid for his safety, no doubt. But then she relaxes some.

"This case, can you tell me about it?" I do, giving her the details, all of which allude to the ridiculous scenario of a werewolf. She hardly seems fazed.

"Isn't there a full moon in a couple days?"

"Yeah, tomorrow, actually." She raises her eyebrows at me. "When I suggested to Agent Mulder that we go up to the local area to help the local law enforcement in case there is a cyclical pattern to the attacks, he said it wasn't necessary." My first suspicion was he had gone to Jersey, but he had been so set against investigating this case.

"But he doesn't want you involved on this case," she gently points out. I think for a moment.

"Well, now I feel stupid." She smiles kindly.

"Don't. You found your way to me, finding him shouldn't be too much harder."

"Why find him though? It seems he wants to be left alone."

"I'll be honest – he doesn't trust you. But an agent without a partner, especially in the field, is an agent in jeopardy. Even if he doesn't trust you, you can still do your best to keep each other safe."

"Alright. So long as when we get back, you promise to tell him I only went on _your_ insistence. Otherwise I think he'll really hate me."

"I promise," she says with a kind smile.

"Thanks for the help. Get well soon," I say with every sincerity. I can tell she won't mind the brusque exit, in fact, she'll probably prefer I get started on the search for Mulder right away. Her words echo in my mind: an agent without a partner is an agent in jeopardy. It may be only temporary, but I'm his partner, and I'm not going to let him down in the off chance he is in danger.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Now that I have a plan, I head to Union station. Jersey may not be a huge place, but finding one man in the area of about two counties and a Native American reservation will not be an easy task and time is of the essence.

I get a train ticket to Trenton. On the train ride, I manage to get ahold of the person in charge of coordinating travel at the FBI. Unsurprisingly, she did not book any travel for Mulder (I doubt he would go through official channels if he was trying to evade me), but she books a rental car that will be ready for me as soon as I get to the Jersey station.

Two hours later, I am in the car and navigating my way to the first town. I had ample time to review the case file on the train, and I learned that the three previous victims had all been involved in border disputes with the reservation. So I know to look in that general direction.

Also, I made a few calls to the surrounding town police departments, asking if anyone from the FBI had reached out to them. The ones on the west side of the reservation, where no attacks have occurred – hadn't been contacted since the investigation began last month, but I found one on the east side that said an FBI officer had stopped by, and advised them to be extra vigilant over the next few days. So that's where I'm headed first.

Daylight is fading by the time I pull off the highway. I must have made a wrong turn somewhere. Frowning at my map, I notice a forest service ranger's station not too far away, and there's a sizable town close by. On a gamble, I reroute myself towards the new destination. After all, this is a federal case, on federal land. I've never understood the pissing battles over jurisdiction myself, but it's possible Mulder doesn't want the local police in on this case.

It's too late to find anyone at the ranger's station, so I head to the nearest town and drive until I find a motel that doesn't look like breeding ground for disease and serial killers. Relieved to find a vacancy, I set up in my room and try Mulder's cell again from the landline. I have a suspicion that he has memorized my phone number in order to screen my calls. If he is here, he'll recognize the area code as local and likely be compelled to answer, thinking it is a police officer contacting him.

"Special Agent Mulder," his voice sounds through the telephone.

"Agent Mulder," my voice bleeds with relief at the confirmation he is okay. "It's good to finally get a hold of you. How are you?"

"I...is this Agent Simonson?" He is clearly confused and angry at having been tricked into picking up the phone.

"Yes, I have been trying to get in contact with you all day. I wanted to make sure you were okay." I'm worried he's going to hang up after confirmation that it is me, but it seems his curiosity keeps him on the line.

"Where are you calling from?" For a second I consider lying, but decide there's no point to it.

"My hotel room in Shamong." I know he'll recognize the town name if he's here – which I am now certain he is. His exasperated sigh is the last confirmation I needed.

"How the hell did you find me?"

"It wasn't all that difficult – I knew the general area to look. It was just a matter of calling the local police forces to see if they had heard from you, and a bit of luck – I saw the forest ranger station on the map and assumed you would be nearby." I keep waiting for him to slam the phone shut, but I'm lucky enough to keep him on the line.

"You're actually in Shamong?"

"Yes, staying at the Day's Inn."

"Fancy that," he says, and I realize we're at the same hotel. "Have you eaten dinner yet?" he asks begrudgingly.

"No, not yet. Have any recommendations?"

"There's a diner a few streets down I wanted to try. Why don't you meet me at room 173?" Did he just invite me to dinner? Seems he's rapidly warming up to me. My hesitation to accept the invitation must reveal my confusion at this change of tone. "Hey, you came up all this way just for me, I figure you should at least get to see me," he teases.

"I…sure, if you don't mind the company. When should I meet you?"

"Can you be here in five?"

"Sure, yeah." I set the phone into the receiver. That…was surprisingly easy. I wonder if…I mean, he wouldn't. Then again, I am alone up here and almost no one knows where I've gone, and no one other than Mulder knows I've found him. If he hates me as much as our first day together suggests, it would be rather easy for him to dispose of me. Just to appease my paranoia, I dial my home number, leaving a message on the machine saying where I am, that I met up with Mulder and that we're going to dinner. If nothing happens, I'll be there to delete it in a few days.

Once that's done, I brush my hair and then head down a floor to Mulder's room. I knock once and he greets me more amicably than I expected.

"Is it okay if I drive? I know the way."

"Fine by me." We walk to the car in silence.

"I must admit I'm a little impressed you got here so quickly." I laugh genuinely.

"I guess I've gotten to do some investigative work on this case after all, albeit more related to you than the case. Then again, the very fact that we're in nowhere, New Jersey suggests you don't intend to close this case." That manages to get a smile. We lapse into awkward silence again.

"In all honestly, I was surprised when you didn't just hang up on me." He takes some time to answer, and I'm worried I've made everything more awkward by addressing the elephant in the room, or, in this case, car.

"I realized it's possible I may have been too quick to judge you."

"Really?" I realize my incredulousness might be offensive so I try to conceal my surprise a little better. "I mean, what made you think that?"

"Scully called, told me you had visited her. She said I might have been a little too hard on you. So, now I'm trying to make amends."

"Then I'm lucky I have at least one of you in my corner. And that she wasn't too put out by me dropping by without invitation." He pulls up to a rather trashy diner, but it manages to maintain a certain charm about it.

"She asked me to thank you for the flowers, said they were very beautiful."

"I'm glad she liked them." Conversation has run dry once again, but we're seated quickly and can then fill the space by looking at the menu. By the time the waitress has taken our orders, I have planned a few conversation starters.

"So, if you don't mind, could you fill me in on what I missed today…and whatever it is that you're planning for tomorrow?"

"I suppose I owe you that much for running off on you." He pauses as the waitress sets down our drink orders. "So, as I assume you've figured out by now, I suspect a certain element of, shall we say, supernatural impact on this case." I nod. "Tomorrow, I think our best bet of documenting, and hopefully capturing this…creature will be if we keep to the edge of the reservation." My eyes bulge.

"Sure, but that's also our best chance of getting killed," I point out, trying not to show the fear I feel. But he shakes his head.

"I don't think so. If this is what we both suspect it is, I don't think it…they…would attack someone they have no problems with. I think we're dealing with something attacking with a reason."

"So you're hoping we just happen to cross paths with it, and it doesn't immediately attack?"

"That is the basic plan, yes," he says with an impish grin. "But, if it helps, it won't just be the two of us – the forest service rangers will also be assisting in the search. Tomorrow we will walk around the area in the daylight, which will hopefully help us keep our bearings at night." I nod in understanding and agreement. "And we will each be outfitted with a Kevlar vest and a radio so that we can stay in constant contact."

"And you're positive this…thing…will be in the forest?" Our food arrives and we each dig in.

"Of course I'm not positive. But that's where the last three attacks have occurred. All the same, that's a large part of why I'm keeping all the local forces in town on their regular duties." Makes sense to me. We work through the details a little longer and then head back to the motel, our meals finished.

I breathe a bit of a sigh of relief once I'm back in my room and away from "Moody Mulder." I have no idea what to make of this change in our relationship. Perhaps Scully did get through to him. Or perhaps he's taken the advice of "keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

I take a long, hot shower to wash off the events of today. Didn't think I'd spend today going from the Hoover building to Mulder's place to Scully's hospital room to New Jersey to this middle-of-nowhere town. I should be relieved that Mulder is no longer shunning me, but really I'm just tired.

Luckily, I happened to bring a pair of workout clothes to work, so I change into those for pajamas and get to bed. Despite my tiredness, it takes me a while to fall asleep. I don't relish wandering the forest tomorrow in the dark with a monster or a madman (I am determined to keep at least one foot grounded in a reality where werewolves don't exist) on the loose.

I definitely didn't think this is what I would be doing when I signed up for the FBI. I'd much rather be going after bad-guys who wear suits and ties – I always felt one was less likely to die doing that than chasing down criminals in the street. I bet Assistant Director Skinner never had to search the woods for a werewolf, I think with a rush of jealousy for his, I assume, much calmer job. But, I'm here, and I need to be well rested for tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to those who have stuck with me! Sparks will begin over the next two chapters between Skinner and the OC, so stay tuned. Reviews are always appreciated!**

Chapter 5

In the morning, Mulder and I have a quiet breakfast before meeting up with the rangers at the service station. After introductions and a review of the general plan – we will each have a quadrant of forest to patrol, about a quarter of a mile across and long. I'm ashamed by how relieved I am that the rangers didn't set aside a quadrant for me since they didn't know I would be coming.

"I'll walk between areas, check in with everyone," I offer. That will keep me in contact with others most of the night, not too bad, and it is still a useful task. I hope my fears are not too transparent to the others. I don't mind the idea of being shot, I've accepted that might be how I die, but being mauled to death is not my preferred means to go. And I'd rather not bite it on my first case.

For the next few hours, I familiarize myself with the forest paths and key landmarks, keeping myself orientated as I walk. As the minutes pass by, my dread grows. I can't shake the feeling that something horrible is going to happen. I notice Mulder has given himself the forest edge closest to the houses that border the forest. Remembering that the past three victims had border disputes with the reservation, I wonder if he's counting on this so that he has the best chance of encountering the creature. I fight a shiver at the thought.

Mulder and I head into town for lunch and to meet up again with the police. In the car ride, I can't help but voice the fears that have plagued me.

"Agent Mulder, I know this is my first case, so I recognize I'm bound to be a little jumpy, but I can't help shake this feeling of dread." For a few seconds, he doesn't respond, and I feel my embarrassment growing.

"I know what you mean. But, this is relatively normal. Whenever an investigation is coming to fruition, there's a lot on the line. It's a common feeling." That helps me feel a little more relaxed – maybe this dread isn't the foreshadowing of my doom.

At the police station, Mulder briefs an assembly of officers to be cautious tonight as well as to prioritize responding to all calls of a break in or suspicious activity or noises near the reservation border. I observe from my spot on the back wall, not wanting to get in the way, impressed by the way he explains the situation.

"Any questions?" Many hands raise into the air. He calls on the first one.

"So, you're convinced that there's going to be another attack tonight. It doesn't escape us that there's a full moon tonight. So, my question is, are we going to be issued with silver bullets?" The room erupts into laughter. I'm surprised Mulder is able to keep his composure in the face of such ridicule.

"Granted, there is a cyclical pattern to these attacks that corresponds to the full moon. That does not necessarily point to the supernatural. It could be someone attempting to make us think the attacker is supernatural and thus not pursue a human suspect. It could be something ritualistic – but still an act of violence committed by humans. If you doubt that supernatural elements are involved here, that's just fine, but I ask that you not dismiss the threat still posed by whatever is going on. I am counting on you responding to threats tonight just as you would any other night, or more people are going to get hurt." That shuts up the laughter, and I cannot help but feel proud of how my partner – temporary or not – handled that. The rest of the questions are much more practical, but the memory of that one officer's judgement stays.

On the ride back to the forest, I try to keep conversation going. It helps distract me from the anxiety of going back in the forest, and I want to learn as much from Mulder as I can before Scully comes back and we go our separate ways.

"I've noticed that most of your recent cases deal with criminal activity with hints of supernatural elements. Is that sort of ridicule common?" He shrugs.

"That actually wasn't so bad," he says with a smile that fades quickly. "You get used to it," he replies more seriously.

"Do you think this is really a supernatural case? Or do you think it is something else, like someone hiding their crimes through an animal attack?"

"I couldn't say for sure. I'm going to wait until after tonight to decide."

"Depending on what you may or may not see in the forest?" That handsome smile is back.

"Exactly."

The afternoon passes exactly like the morning, only as the light begins to fade, my skin starts crawling at every snap of a branch or rustling of the leaves. I struggle to keep my heart rate and breathing steady. We all move to our formal positions, spread out and alone. The communication system will be used only in emergencies, but if it takes me longer than walk around a quadrant to find someone, I will also attempt to check in with them via radio.

We all have night-vision goggles, our radio and ear pieces, flashlights to use only if necessary, and, naturally, our handguns as well as a Kevlar vest. I can't help but feel like Mulder has decided to use us all as bait to see what comes to the trap. God, I wish we were patrolling in pairs, but too much of the forest would be uncovered if we doubled up.

Darkness falls, and I strap on my night-vision goggles. I give myself some time to adjust to how everything looks, the slightly different perspective of distance, before continuing my route. As the night wears on with no activity, I slowly begin to relax. I remind myself that unlike the previous victims, I've got a semblance of night vision and a gun. I keep my gun in a hand at all times – it helps calm me.

Each time I approach Mulder's quadrant, the one closest to the houses and therefore most likely to be subject to attack, my heart rate spikes and my stomach clenches. I'm washed in relief each time I see him – partially because that means he's still okay, and partially because I can head back out of the danger zone.

I spot him moving through the forest path and wave, quietly calling a greeting. I get close enough so we can talk without shouting – I don't want to draw attention to ourselves.

"Any news?" I ask.

"It's been quiet so far."

"Alright, well, call if there's anything."

"Of course. How are you holding up?"

"I'm grateful for the FBI physical evaluation, I'll say that. But I think they should incorporate a "walking through a forest at night for hours on end" portion." He chuckles.

"You can give your feedback to Agent Skinner when we get back to DC."

"I plan on it," I joke. "I'll see you in a bit." I head back towards the other quadrant, glad I'll be headed downhill for most of it. I get to the top of a crest when I look down and realize one of my shoes are untied. Glad for the excuse of a break, I tie my shoe and then sit for a moment, trying to relax my keyed up nerves.

I hear a sound in the distance, back towards Mulder. My stomach drops, perhaps unnecessarily, but it sounded like a hard contact – like something hard hitting someone – and a groan. I whip around and head towards the noise, disregarding stealth in my rush. Mulder hasn't called out on the radio, which could be a good or bad sign.

It takes me a moment before I realize I've already gotten back to where I saw Mulder. I look around, frantic, and call out.

"Mulder," I call, in a whisper at first and then louder and louder. He should've heard me by now – he couldn't have gotten too far away. I take a few more steps, unsure which direction he would have walked from where I saw him, and my foot crunches something. Something plastic and metal, I realize. Kneeling down, it's unmistakable – it's Mulder's radio.

"This is Agent Simonson in quadrant 14. Agent Mulder cannot be accounted for, repeat, can not be accounted for. I need nearby rangers to come to my location. I have found a radio on the ground and," my breath catches as I walk a little father and examine the ground more closely, "what appears to be blood. I need everyone to come to quadrant 14, over."

Calls of acknowledgement sound over the radio, but that's not enough. Having people here will only do so much. And will likely disturb the scene, but that's not something to worry about now. We need to find Mulder. My heart pounding in my ears, I struggle to reason through my fear and panic.

An animal wouldn't have attacked like that – there probably would have been growling or baying – not a thwunk and silence. And it probably wouldn't have been able to dispatch Mulder without a gunshot or cry for help. It doesn't make any sense. I flip up my nightvision goggles and switch on my flashlight to better survey the scene. Without that greenish tint, details are more apparent, and my eye catches two troughs in the soil and leaf litter. It almost looks like heel marks of a body being dragged. Willing myself not to fully comprehend the significance of this – _please don't be dead please don't be dead please don't be dead_ – I dart along the path.

"I may have located the path that Mulder was taken. Am heading northeast, away from the houses and towards the general direction of the rangers station," I relay to the others.

"Agent Simonson, be advised, there's a cave complex in that direction." I let loose a string of swears in my head. That's not what I wanted – to be pursuing an incapacitated Mulder and his abductor through a dark cave. I just repeat my request for backup, requesting some remain at the crime scene to search for alternative clues and others head to the cave.

Unsurprisingly, considering my luck lately, the heel marks lead directly to a cave opening. I abandon all attempts to keep myself calm. On the rock leading into the narrow opening, there's a smear of fresh blood. So I'm definitely in the right place. God, Mulder, please don't be dead.

Gun in hand and night vision goggles replaced, I head into the cave. Luckily, there is a path here for tourists so I don't have to be too concerned about tripping, and the opening is tall enough that I don't have to crouch. I round a corner and find myself in an open atrium, far larger than I expected. Echoing through the passageway, I hear two, definitely human, male voices but neither belongs to Mulder.

My fear has been replaced by curiosity as well as confidence with the more familiar territory of human criminals. Moving as quickly as I can while still keeping my presence concealed, I creep closer, concealing myself behind stalagmites as I go. Two tripods of lights have been set up, and I head towards that area. As I get closer, the words of Mulder's captors become clearer.

"Do you have that syringe ready or not?" one demands of the other. "Hurry up, he's going to wake up soon." A heart-spotting snarling and barking sounds out, and I freeze.

"I can't wait to get rid of this fucking dog," the other one says. A dog – that's not good. But things are starting to fall into place, as strange as they are. And I know I need to stop whatever it is these two goons have planned for Mulder right now. I skirt a little closer so that I'm in a good range. I can see their faces now, two white men, shaved heads. They almost have a military look about them. And behind them, there's a giant cage that's rattling and shaking that houses the biggest, nastiest dog I've ever seen. One of the men is walking towards Mulder's prone body with a syringe. I take a deep breath and step into the light.

"FBI, step away from that man and get on the ground," I command, my voice steadier than I could hope. But they just laugh. "If you do not comply, I will be forced to shoot you. Now, get on the ground," I command. They seem rather too relaxed for this situation.

"Agent Simonson, no? I thought our boss already discussed this with you." I try not to let him rattle me.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but get on the ground." The other has started creeping closer to the cage, and I swivel to point my gun at him. "Hey, freeze!" He holds his hands up and stops.

"You don't have to be here, you know. We don't want any harm to come to you. You just turn around and walk back out there, and there won't be any problem," the first man says, far too confident. "Agent Mulder has been sticking his nose where he shouldn't, and we have to put a stop to him. All you have to do is not intervene, and your career at the FBI will be glorious, Agent Simonson. You'll be assigned to criminology, make manager within three years."

My eyes dart between the two of these men. How do they know so much about me? Why do they have the authority to make these promises? For some reason, my conversation with the mysterious man in the elevator comes to my mind. "Just turn around and say you couldn't find the cave entrance." And didn't my criminology professor say to take the first out I was given? I shake off such thoughts and cock my gun.

"I don't know who you are or why you think you can buy me, but I'm not going to say it again – get on the ground."

"You're picking the wrong side, Agent, the losing side. There are larger matters at work here than you realize. You're giving up a fabulous career."

"That's peachy. On the ground."

"Shame it had to come to this, Agent," the first man says and reaches behind him into his waistband, whipping out a gun. I fire one bullet into his chest, and he falls. But the other man is already running away. I fire two shots after him, but he keeps going into the dark. I could pursue him, but there are more immediate concerns. Primarily, that dog.

I realize too late that the second man unlocked the cage as he ran – the door is shaking, and it won't be long until the agitated dog realizes its free. I move quickly, approaching the body of the first man and check for a pulse – nothing. That's going to be a problem in the future, but for right now it makes my life easier. I take a minute to call into the radio.

"I need at least two EMTs. Encountered two suspects, one down, one at large. All rangers give chase," but there is a dead hiss. Maybe I'm out of range, I think with a scowl.

The door to the cage springs open, and 150+ pounds of foaming-at-the-mouth dog shoots out. Three shots – two in the chest, one in the head – stops the beast. Swallowing my guilt, I approach the dog – it's chest is still rising and falling – and fire one shot point blank into its skull. Behind me now, Mulder is stirring.

"Mulder, are you okay?" I crouch down beside him. He's got a head wound that's bleeding, but other than that he appears intact. I tear off my jacket and press it to his head. I want to get out of this cave as soon as possible – the other man could come back anytime. Mulder sits up with a groan.

Just then, two rangers come into the atrium.

"Over here," I shout.

"Agents, are you okay?" the first, Jerry, asks.

"I think so. We need to get Mulder to a hospital, and get this crime scene documented."

"I don't need a hospital," Mulder protests weakly but is resoundingly ignored.

"What happened?" the other ranger, Kurt, asks.

"I found Mulder here, and there were two men, one was going to inject him with something, and the other was handling that dog's cage. I told them to get on the ground, but they refused, and the first man, the one closest to Mulder, pulled a gun. I had to shoot him. The second ran off, but he unlocked the dog's cage, and it tried to attack. I had to shoot it too, but that second man is still on the loose. If there's a map of this cave, people should spread out and search for him."

"We're out of radio range here – I'll go up to the surface and radio what's happening," Jerry offers. Kurt and I help Mulder to his feet and support him on the journey back to the surface.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Skinner comes back in this chapter** **.**

Chapter 6

I breathe the night air deeply, relieved to be out of the stale cave air that now reeks of gunshot powder. By now, there are more than 7 rangers assembled.

"Agent Simonson, some EMT's are on their way, but Ranger Rick can take a look at Mulder – he was a paramedic in the army." I move aside so Rick has access to Mulder.

"There was another man in the cave who escaped, I would like to make all efforts to find him," I explain to the other six. Two of the rangers claim to be able to navigate the cave tunnels without trouble, so I have them each take one of the other rangers with them. So, I've got four rangers searching, and I have one of the others head back to headquarters for the cave maps while the other waits at the crime scene just in case the suspect comes back.

I sit on a rock and take a few deep breathes. Four more rangers come in, and this time there are two cops with them. The cops take my statement while three of the rangers head down into the cave to help search. The fourth – Elijah – is the head ranger, and he stays nearby while I make my statement. When finished, they head into the cave to examine and begin documenting the scene. I'm sure more cops are on their way.

"You're going to have to sign an affidavit, and you'll probably be removed from active duty for some time," Elijah says. I nod. I figured as much. "I made the call to DC, and your boss and some other higher ups are coming in." I sigh. I figured I would have to face that too.

"All this fanfare for an agent-involved shooting?"

"It was my impression that some of this 'fanfare' is due to the attempt on Agent Mulder's life." I guess that makes more sense.

"We'll have to wait for the medical examiner to make the assessment, of course, but I think that dog was the same one involved in the three maulings." A few more cops trickle by, laden with evidence bags, tags, and photography equipment.

"I had assumed as much." I am just about to inform the head ranger about what the dead man said to me, that this was a deliberate attempt to take out Mulder, and so then the previous three murders were committed just to lure Mulder here, but the ranger checking out Mulder interrupts. Maybe that conversation is best left to within the Bureau anyways.

"Looks like Mulder has a mild concussion, but he will be fine." I sigh with relief. All the same, I'd like to get him to a hospital.

"When the EMT's get here," I begin to say.

"I'll have them take him to the hospital all the same," Rick finishes. I smile my thanks.

"Oh, and have a guard posted to his room. This other suspect is still at large, and I don't want to take any chances."

"Of course." One of the cops comes up, asking for me to accompany him through the crime scene as a walkthrough of what happened. Before I can accept, Mulder staggers over, asking to speak to me privately.

"Just a moment, officer, and I'll be right down." I let Mulder guide me a few paces away from the others.

"You saved my life," he says. Must be the concussion making him state the obvious.

"That's what partners are for – temporary or not," I say with a smile.

"Thank you. After the way I treated you, I wouldn't have blamed you for taking their deal." My eyes bulge.

"I didn't realize you were awake for that."

"Awake enough," he says with a dismissive wave. "I know you're going to have a lot to deal with on your end with this. But, if you can," he stops and takes a deep breath, "can you please go to the hospital with me? The way things are, I don't really trust,"

"Say no more. I won't let the EMT's leave unless I'm with you." I squeeze his hand and then head back to the cave. As we walk through the narrow path, my mind wanders. I wonder how long it will take for Agent Skinner – and whatever other higher ups are coming – to get here. Will I be put through the ringer? If these men had friends in high places like they claimed, I very well might take a lot of heat for this.

As the officer requested, I walk through the scene. This time, I add how the man tried to bargain with me, but I don't disclose exactly what was said. I shudder looking at the two dead bodies. I swallow hard and focus on the task at hand.

"Thank you for your time, Agent. If you need to be with your partner, we can handle it from here."

"Thank you. Any word from the rangers on the search for the other suspect?"

"Nothing so far."

"Officer," one of the forensic specialists calls out. "Take a look at this," he says while pulling a video camera out of a crevice on one of the rocks. My eyebrows shoot up. That's…odd. "It's still recording," he exclaims.

"Turn it off and bag it immediately," the officer orders. "Well, that should speed up the review process some, as odd as that is." I nod. I'm relieved that was there as that should make it difficult to argue I did anything incorrectly, but I am also thoroughly creeped out. Why would they record a murder? As proof to their higher-ups they were successful? Or to blackmail me if I had taken them up on their offer? I suppress a shiver.

Above ground again, two EMT's wait to take Mulder to the hospital. They agree with the ranger's prognosis but want to keep him for observation all the same. I request to come with, and they oblige. The four of us trudge out of the forest and into the ambulance. From the ride over until he's settled into his room, I don't let Mulder out of my sight. There is an officer at Mulder's door, but paranoia must be catching, because I don't trust him.

"Simonson, has anyone found my gun?" I had completely forgotten that his gun must have been taken from him. I shake my head. I realize, with some anxiety, that I'm down to three bullets. And, I'm guessing my gun is going to be confiscated very soon. Then how will I protect Mulder? I need to relax…not everyone is a threat. We've been safe the entire way here, after all.

An hour or so later, I'm called out of the room to sit with a sketch artist – at this point it's looking like the second man made his way above ground and escaped, so the search radius has widened considerably. I do my best to describe his features, but I didn't see him too closely. And I insist on doing the sketch in the hallway so that I can keep an eye on Mulder.

Back in the hospital room, I ponder the case to keep myself awake. Someone really wants Agent Mulder dead. And they were willing to pull strings to get me on a case with him. I wonder why me. Maybe it wasn't me, maybe it was anyone and it just happened to end up being me. Mulder would have rejected anyone as his new partner. And if it hadn't been for my determination to not be hated, he would have been here alone. And, as Scully said, in jeopardy. If I hadn't reacted so quickly, I have no doubt he would have died.

I think back to what that mysterious man said to me, and even my professor. They wanted me to let him die. I'm sure of it. That's why that camera was there – to record me turning my back on him. If they had such evidence, I would have had to do anything they wanted or I would have been done at the FBI, maybe even in jail. I shake my head – am I seeing connections that don't exist?

One of the detectives taps on the window, so I go out to meet him. I hope he has good news.

"We got the tape back to the station and watched it. What the hell is going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who were those men, that they offered you what they did?" I shake my head.

"Beats me, but I assure you I'll be looking into it."

"The M.E. looked at the dog's teeth – a sure match up to the past three cases. But the teeth had been altered, enlarged with plaster to make them look more vicious than a normal dog's. And the dead man had wolf hair in his pocket. Those past three dead men, they were all collateral to lure that Agent up here, weren't they?" I sigh.

"I wouldn't know. But if I had to guess – yeah." He shakes his head, enraged.

"Those bastards. One of them, we had been friends since grammar school." I want to comfort him but don't know how. "We're not going to stop looking until we find him," the detective says, voice raw. "Oh, and your boss and some other FBI cronies stopped by the station a while ago. They're probably coming down soon to talk to you."

"Thanks for the heads up. And thanks for the update." He nods curtly and departs. I head back in the room, surprised to see that Mulder is awake.

"Mulder, do you trust Assistant Director Skinner?" He cracks a lazy smile.

"I don't trust anyone."

"You trust Scully, don't you?" He's silent for a while.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, what about Skinner?

"I'm not sure. But I know that I don't not trust him." I think that makes sense. I fill Mulder in on the few developments on the case and then he drifts back to sleep.

A few minutes later, three people walk down the hallway. Two I recognize – Scully and Agent Skinner – the other one I've never seen before. I'm just glad it's not the man I ran into in the elevator.

I step out of the room to meet them.

"How is he?" Scully asks. I'm surprised she's here – last I saw her she was in the hospital herself.

"A mild concussion, but other than that he's checked out fine."

"Thank you for sitting with him," she says, the true gravity of that statement going unsaid – _thank you for making sure no one tries to kill him again while he's here._ I just nod. She enters the room to take my place at the vigil.

"Agent Simonson, this is Associate Director Bradford." We shake hands. "If you could come with us, we need to take your statement," Agent Skinner says, as formal and tense, maybe more so, than ever. I nod.

"I already gave my statement to the police," I say, but let them escort me out of the hospital and into a car all the same. Scully knows where I am and who I'm with. There's no way they would kill me, but my skin crawls all the same.

"Yes, but we need to conduct our own, separate investigation," Skinner answers.

"Very well." I'm exhausted, but I force myself to stay awake in the car ride. There's no way I'm going to be taken somewhere right now without memorizing every turn. The journey is conversation-less. We end up back at the station, and Skinner and the man who must be his boss – Bradford – take me to an empty interrogation room.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Walk us through what happened, and then write it out," Skinner requests. I notice the paper waiting on the table has the official FBI letterhead.

"Of course." I walk them through the facts, starting when I heard the noise that made me go back to investigate. When I get to the encounter in the cave, I hesitate, unsure how to discuss what the man said to me.

"We've seen the tape, Agent Simonson," Agent Skinner growls at me, irritated with my hesitation no doubt.

"Well, I…the man nearest to Agent Mulder attempted to bribe me into complacency. I refused his attempts and continued to order him and his accomplice on the ground."

"But you considered his offer, didn't you? You hesitated on the tape." This is the first time Bradford has spoken to me.

"I mean, I was taken aback by the offer, and I was confused why he would make it as well as curious what connections he had that could sustain such a promise, but no, I didn't consider abandoning Agent Mulder, if that's what you're asking." Agent Skinner doesn't look impressed, but they allow me to continue on with my story.

"Anyways, when it became clear they could not sway me, the first man pulled a gun, and I shot him."

"Why did you not take a less lethal shot?" Skinner's boss again. I'm stunned by the question.

"I…I thought you said you saw the tape? He pulled a gun, and it was clear he wasn't about to hand it over."

"The recording was only situated so that Agent Mulder and the entrance to the cave could be seen. The two men were only on the tape when they came in," Skinner explains.

"Okay, well, like I said, the man pulled a gun. I was dealing with two suspects, an incapacitated, maybe dying, partner, and a murderous dog. I knew that if I was going to get Agent Mulder and myself out alive, I didn't have time to shoot to disarm." I suppose this is a question they must ask, but the answer seems rather obvious.

"How did you know that?" Skinner's boss presses.

"Do the math – three potential assailants, two of which were likely armed and had made it clear they did not plan to surrender, and only one FBI agent that needed to defend two. I don't think there's a situation where shooting to kill is more justified. Additionally, had I only disarmed the man, I then would have had to get the gun away from him while dealing with his potentially armed partner. And that still wouldn't have stopped him from simply charging at me. And while I was dealing with him, his partner could have shot Mulder, or myself."

"And you had time to consider all this?"

"Yes, in the moments when these men were offering me an illustrious career at the FBI if I didn't interfere with their murderous plot." That seems to have shut up _Associate Director_ Bradford, I think his title with contempt. "Now, this might be just me, but from here, it feels like I'm facing more investigation than those men on the tape are. Is anyone looking into those two and why they targeted Mulder? Or why they made the bribes that they did?" I'm met with silence.

"You don't actually think these lunatics had the connections within the Bureau that they claimed they did, do you?" Bradford sneers with derision.

"They knew enough about me that they have to know _someone_ ," I say pointedly. "My assignment requests are by no means public record." Once again, I manage to shut him up and wipe that smirk off his face.

"Agent Simonson, please write what you told us down and sign the last page. Then you'll be free to go. You have a ticket back to DC in the afternoon," Skinner says, interrupting the tension in the room. Damn, someone wants me out of here fast. But I just nod and begin writing. The two agents leave, and I write for the better part of an hour.

* * *

"What do you think?" Bradford asks the moment the door is shut.

"About what?" I'm too tired to keep my temper under control while Bradford is being vague for no reason.

"Her story. I think she thought about taking the bribe."

"Maybe, but she didn't, and that's what matters. And she's right that it is concerning these men knew so much about her. They had to have a source in the Bureau."

"Yeah, maybe a nosey janitor who likes to go through loose files," he says with derision. But his projected coolness doesn't pass muster. I'll let it go though – no need for him to know just how much I suspect his involvement. Investigating this conspiracy to assassinate Mulder will come under my jurisdiction, and we'll see what happens when the time comes. "She'll have to be taken off active duty," he says, changing the subject.

"Seems like Scully is back on her feet anyways. Is there an opening at criminology?"

"Not at the moment. Put her somewhere easy and low-profile. Maybe traffic crimes. Or evidence logging." I'm taken aback.

"Sir? She followed every step of FBI protocol, such a demotion is usually reserved for when an agent makes an error – a bad one." He shrugs.

"A fatal shooting on her first case – I'd call that an error."

"What other option did she have?" I exclaim. His eyes narrow.

"What do you care?"

"She's a good agent and shows great promise – why punish her for something out of her control?"

"It's not a punishment, I just want the heat to die down. Give her some time to recover from the stress of this assignment." I bite my tongue. That clearly is not what is going on at all.

"Very well." Bradford walks off, but I stay, watching her write her statement. Pointless, all of it. She's just more collateral damage in this war going on. Granted, she got a better fate than those poor "animal mauling" victims, but going through Quantico just to have your career be over a few days later? Shame. I wonder what it is about her that made CSM thinking she would submit to being a pawn.

Ambition, perhaps. More than a few of her recommendations noted her ambition and determination. But they also noted her quest for the truth. Maybe he's forgotten what that means to someone as young and green as her. For whatever reason, for Mulder's sake, I'm glad CSM miscalculated Simonson's character. Shame for her though, relegated to evidence logging. I'll see if there's something I can do. With everything as shitty as it has been lately, I try to look for places I can make things less awful. Maybe helping out this ill-fated agent is one of those.

* * *

Just as I'm finishing up, Agent Skinner comes in with a cup of coffee he sets down next to me, but I'm not going to touch it until I'm finished writing. I say thanks all the same. I feel him looking over my shoulder as I write.

"You're being very thorough," he comments.

"My conversation with Associate Director Bradford made it clear that I needed to be. But I'm almost done." He sits across the table, but he seems much less formal this time. Maybe it's the loosened tie or the cup of coffee in his hand as well or the tired slouch in his shoulders, but I find him much less intimidating than I did when we first me.

"Have you ever shot a man before, Agent Simonson?" Nope, he's intimidating again. I stop writing and look up into his dark brown eyes.

"As in before this? No, I hadn't. Why?" I ask suspiciously.

"Firsts are always hard – this one especially." Is he…trying to be comforting? Because it's not really working. I finish up and sign the statement, pushing it across the table to him. He takes it without reading it and slips it into his briefcase. I take a long draught of the coffee.

"I-" the words catch on my lips. He looks a question at me, and I realize I have to keep going now. "Did I…do the right thing?" My cheeks flush at my stupid question. Of course I did, but that encounter with Agent Bradford…

"You did. Followed protocol to the letter." His simply statement bolsters my spirits. "Now, I hate to ask, but I need to confiscate your firearm for ballistics." I figured this was coming, so I nod and unholster the weapon, removing the magazine before handing it over. He bags it into evidence.

"How long until I can get it back?"

"A few days, likely." I'm glad for my personal weapon back in my apartment in Virginia.

"I need to ask you a question in an unofficial capacity," his deep voice whispers. I gesture for him to continue, and he slides a picture across the table. My eyebrows raise as I – much to my surprise – recognize the man.

"Have you seen this man before?" His tone tells me he already knows the answer from my reaction. I nod.

"Once, my first day at the FBI. I saw him in an elevator, and we talked very briefly."

"Do you remember what about?" his voice is tight. I furrow my brow as I try to remember.

"He asked if it was my first day, told me wearing my badge around my neck marked me as a newbie. And he…asked if I was having problems with my partner." Skinner's eyebrows shoot up. "He said that it was common for people to have problems with the first partner they are assigned to. And that…if I kept my head down, it would be resolved soon." Judging by his expression, significance of this is not lost of my boss, but he just nods.

"Thank you. I can take you back to your hotel now." I finish the coffee and follow him out of the police station.

In the chill of the autumn night, I shiver freely.

"Here," Agent Skinner offers, shrugging off his coat and handing it to me. My instinct is to refuse, but when another gust of wind comes, I can't help but accept.

"Thank you," I say, trying to show my sincerity with my tone. I wrap myself in the coat, a little embarrassed how it hangs on me, but I'm grateful for it. The parking lot is dark, and it reminds me of the cave. I shiver again, this time not due to the cold.

We get in the car, and I'm expecting a quiet ride back, but Agent Skinner proves to be surprisingly chatty. He passes me my ticket at a red light.

"When you get back to DC, feel free to take the rest of the day off. The following day I should be back. We will need to talk about your next assignment now that Agent Scully is back." I'm dying to know if I need to be worried about a reprimand from above due to the shooting, but I swallow my question. That would be ridiculous – Agent Skinner already said I followed every protocol. Damn am I glad for that tape.

I direct him down main street and to the turn off for the motel.

"Any word on who those men were?"

"Nothing on fingerprints, we're still waiting on DNA." There's a pause. "I'll be sure to keep you updated on the investigation but don't hold your breath."

"Thanks." We pull up at the motel, and, to my surprise, he gets out of the car.

"Do you mind if I walk you up?" I shrug and shake my head. At this hour and without my gun? Not at all.

At the doorway, I shrug off his coat and hand it back with a, "thanks, again." Just as I'm about to turn the key, his hand grabs my arm, making me freeze.

"Agent Simonson, your life may be in danger." His dark eyes bore into mine, seemingly willing me to understand.

"I kind of assumed that," I answer, voice small. He heaves a sigh.

"Here's my card. Don't hesitate to call if you need to. And you might want to spend the next few days at a friend's place." I absorb this information, carefully tucking the card into my pocket.

"Thanks for the advice."

"Do you want me to wait outside while you make sure everything's okay?"

"Yes," I answer before he can fully finish the offer. I do a quick sweep of the room, looking under the bed, in the closets, and in the bathroom.

"Everything looks as it should," I report back.

"Alright. Have a nice remainder of the night." I wave goodbye. As he leaves, I realize just how tired he looks. I know I wouldn't have the presence of mind to show someone the kindness he's shown me if I was that tired. For some reason, that makes me appreciate his relatively gentle demeanor tonight even more.

I'll wait until tomorrow to shower, but I strip off my clothes and crawl into bed. I have just enough time to set an alarm before I'm asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Happy Halloween Update! :)**

Chapter 8

I wake to my alarm only a few hours later, groaning with exhaustion. But, I force myself out of bed, back into my filthy clothes, and into the foggy morning. I head down the street to the convenience store I noticed earlier and grab a pack of underwear, jeans, and a long-sleeved t-shirt and then head back to the motel to shower and change into new clothes. God, it's such a relief to be clean again.

After that, I get some coffee and a pastry at a donut shop before driving to the hospital. I want to check on Mulder one that time and get any more updates on the case before I go back to DC. At the hospital, I find he's already checked out, so I head back to the motel and try his room.

I'm in luck – I run into him just as he's about to head to the police station. I realize that he still hasn't given any statement about what happened.

"Mulder, I'm glad I caught you before I left; I've got a flight back to DC in a couple hours. How are you?"

"I've got a bit of a headache, but nothing I can't handle." There's a bit of an awkward silence. "Hey, thanks again for looking out for me last night. I know we got off to a rocky start, which was entirely my fault, but I'm glad you made me work it out." I can't help but smile.

"I'm glad you were willing to. I take it Scully is around here somewhere?" He nods to the administrative building.

"She's taking care of checking out of the rooms – we're headed back to DC on a redeye tonight."

"Then I leave you in capable hands." We share a smile. "I'll see you back in DC."

"You can count on that." We shake hands, and I head to my car.

The drive to the airport is smooth this time of day. I still have plenty of time to spare, but I didn't see any reason to linger in that horrible town. Besides, I'll feel a little safer in the airport. I feel bare without my gun and out in the world seems a little too exposed. Once I'm back in DC, I'm headed straight to my apartment to pack a bag and then to Jillian's place – my former roommate. I have no idea how high on the hit-list I am, but I'll feel better with a gun on my hip and my patterns altered.

Once I'm through security and at my gate, I allow myself to doze off until boarding begins. It's not until we're in the air (and I feel like an assassination attempt would be ill-advised) that I am actually able to sleep soundly. As soon as the plane hits the tarmac in DC, I'm back at full alert. I'm glad my flight was in the middle of the day and not at night – it helps give me a little added security.

I head to the metro station, but I transfer cars in case anyone pursued me to watch my movements, and then I get off after a few stops and hail a cab to my apartment. My heart races as I approach the door. If someone wanted to ambush me, this would be the place to do it.

I unlock the door and then kick it open. I strain to hear any noises, but everything seems quiet, so, gym bag outside so that I have full mobility, I head in. My nerves are taunt, but after a quick search in all the possible hiding places, I throw some clothes in a duffle bag, grab my gun, and lock the place up before jogging to the metro station. I know Jillian won't be home yet, and I should really give her a head's up, but I don't want to risk the call being intercepted (paranoid, I know, but better safe than dead).

Keeping close tabs on everyone around me, checking I'm not being followed, I make it to her building and follow someone in. I still have my old spare key, and I breathe a sigh of relief to find it still works. Her big, fluffy mutt bounds up to me and gives me a copious amount of licks in greeting.

"Hi, Jasper, how you been? I know, it's been a while." I give him an ear rub before setting my bag down and then checking the apartment – just to be sure. This is a former address of mine, after all.

After that, I lay down on the couch and doze for a few hours. Closer to five, I'll start making dinner as a preemptive thanks for letting me crash on her couch for a few days, but until then…

I wake up to the door opening and leap to my feet, gun drawn.

"Freeze!" I yell as a man I don't recognize comes into view. Briefcase and thermos go clattering to the floor as the man throws his arms in the air.

"Oh, Evan, it's just you," I say, holstering my weapon. That would be Jillian's boyfriend.

"Jesus, Laila, what are you doing here?" he says breathlessly, unsurprisingly not too happy about having a gun in his face.

"Sorry to just drop by. Something came up at work, and it seems like it's better if I don't hang around my place." He raises his eyebrows but doesn't ask any questions. I've only met Evan a few times, but I appreciate that he seems to keep his nose out of other people's business.

"Well, you know you're always welcome here."

"Thanks. I'm sorry for any inconvenience. And for, well, my greeting. I was going to make dinner, if that's alright, but I overslept some."

"It's all fine. Why don't I change, and then I'll help you with dinner. Jillian has some tofu marinating in the fridge that's going to be fried up."

"Great, I'll get started on that." About twenty minutes later, Jillian comes home, thrilled to see me in her kitchen.

"Laila! What a surprise! How are you?" she gushes. "Oh, you don't have to help with that." She grabs my hands to stop them from doing food prep. "Is everything okay? You look exhausted." She places her hand to my forehead to check for a fever.

"I'm okay," I try to assure her, moving her hands away. "It's just…some stuff came up at work. My boss thought it would be best if I wasn't home the next few days. Just to be safe."

"Safe? Ohmygosh, what happened?" We sit down, and I give her the gist – my partner was almost assassinated and it may be that the would-be assassins are holding a grudge against me for thwarting them. She listens wide-eyed the whole time. Jillian always has been a very active listener.

"She gave me quite a fright when I came home," Evan chimes in with a smile.

"Of course she did – that's my tough Laila." I roll my eyes at her teasing. "Scares everyone but Jasper, doesn't she?" Jillian switches to baby talk as she goes to give the dog a belly-rub.

"I'm really sorry for the imposition, if it's too much trouble I can just get a hotel-"

"Nonsense! It's no imposition. You're welcome as long as you like. You can go back to being an independent, living-alone, takes-no-shit, woman after this work crisis settles down." I roll my eyes but give her a tight hug all the same. Dinner is a cheerful affair, and I'm glad for their company to distract me for the mess at the FBI headquarters. I should really try and stay in touch more.

Just as Jillian is pulling out her home-made pudding, my cell rings.

"Hello?"

"Agent Simonson, this is Skinner." My heart thumps – I wonder what he's calling about. Good news? Or bad news? I head into my former bedroom – now an office – for privacy.

"Hi, is everything okay?"

"I guess you could say that. Some rangers found the second man involved in the assassination plot dead in a ditch." My heart sinks – so much for a witness to testify against his higher-ups. Hell, that's probably why he's dead. "I'll need you to identify him just to be certain, but based on the sketch you gave and Mulder's memory, he's the guy. And, from what forensics could pull from the slug, it looks FBI issued."

"You're kidding," I say and then immediately regret it – of course he's not kidding.

"Unfortunately, no. So either we have a vigilante agent on our hands, or you weren't as crazy to believe their claims of inside man as Bradford wanted you to think you were." I know his wording is carefully chosen – so he suspects his boss's involvement as much as I do.

"That's…concerning. Is there anything I can do to help with the investigation from here?"

"No," he sighs, weariness bleeding into his voice. "Check in with me tomorrow." There's silence as I wait for either an order or dismissal. "Are you…did you – make it in okay?" There's a surprising tenderness in his voice.

"Yes, everything is fine with me," I assure him.

"Okay. Goodnight." The line clicks dead. I look at my phone a little surprised at the turns of that call and then head back for some delicious dessert.

"Who was that?" Jillian asks.

"Work," I answer simply, already putting the matter from my mind. I see Jillian exchange a glance with Evan, who shrugs.

"Work?" she asks again, this time with a little glint in her eye.

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"Then why are you blushing?" she asks.

"I'm not," I answer, maybe a little too fast.

"Yes, you are," she exclaims, leaning forward. Now I can feel my face heating up.

"Well, I am _now,_ what with this third degree."

"Was that your sexy partner?" she asks, voice conspiratorially low.

"I never said he was sexy," I exclaim, indignantly. She rolls her eyes.

"You chased him up to New Jersey, rushed into a cave to save his ass, and then waited at the hospital with him all night. He's _definitely_ sexy."

"That's what partners _do_ – even temporary ones. But…yeah, he is sexy," I admit with a grin. "But that wasn't him," I say triumphantly.

"Then who? A secret boyfriend perhaps?" That's Jillian, always hoping I have a man in my life.

"No," I say, disdain clear. But she just won't let up, pestering me all through dessert and while helping me set sheets up on the couch, so I finally relent.

"Look, it was my boss. Now will you drop it?" Her face falls.

"Well, is _he_ sexy?" I think for a minute, unsure how to answer. But then she exclaims, "You're blushing again! Ooo, he is, isn't he?"

"I don't know! Maybe! I don't know him very well."

"You don't have to know a man well to find him sexy," she points out, hands on her hips.

"He's got a bit of a sort of dark, stoic…sexy," I admit, reluctantly, "thing going on. But he's hardly noticed I exist. And I might even be transferred out of his jurisdiction soon. And he's significantly older than me."

"That doesn't mean he's not sexy," she counters saucily. I lob a pillow at her head, hoping that distracts her from my blushing. It doesn't.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I wait outside Agent Skinner's office, somehow more nervous than I was my first day. I hope I'm not going to be in any trouble. A few suited men come out of Skinner's office. Surprised, I look at my watch – it's only a little past 8:30. Looks like I wasn't his first meeting of the day. A few seconds later, he opens the door and waves me inside. As we walk over to his desk, I can't help but notice how tired he seems.

"First things first, Agent Simonson," his voice seems deeper, darker, than usual, "I need you to see if you can identify the man in this photo." Skinner picks a photo out of a case file and passes it to me across the desk. It's obviously of a corpse on a medical examiner's slab. My gut clenches as I remember the happenings of the cave in detail.

"That's the second man who tried to assassinate Agent Mulder." I try to keep my voice steady. He nods and accepts the picture back.

"Thank you. Now," he shuffles some papers around on his desk, "we need to talk about your next assignment, what with Agent Scully returning to duty." He pauses and clears his throat. I realize a moment before he delivers the blow that I'm being punished for my lack of complacency. "Since the rest of the available positions have been filled by your Quantico graduated classmates, you are going to be temporarily reassigned to evidence storage." It's worse than I expected, but I manage to stifle every outward reaction other than a sharp inhale.

"I see. I take it that this assignment transfers me out of your jurisdiction." _And your protection_ , I leave unsaid. He nods once sharply.

"I guess you really do see." A silent understanding of the puppet strings passes between us. His eyes hold a sorrow for my fate that is surprising, given our minimal acquaintance. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

"Don't be – I'd rather be punished for doing the right thing than forever blackmailed and controllable for doing the wrong thing."

"On the bright side, I think you can take your reassignment to be the entirety of any wrath directed your way." I cock my head to the side, intrigued.

"How do you figure?" He shrugs, a somewhat awkward rolling of his shoulders.

"I've been here long enough to see certain patterns. I have the feeling you're out of their crosshairs – and you may never have really been in them in the first place."

"Thanks for intel."

"Thank _you_ , Agent Simonson."

"For what?" I ask, perplexed.

"For not being the person they, for whatever reason, thought you were."

"It was my pleasure," I say with a genuine smile. I stand, smoothing my skirt. "Agent Skinner," I say in parting and outstretch my hand, which he firmly shakes. I try my hardest not to notice the calluses on his palm, the way his warm hand completely envelops mine, the strength in his fingers.

I head towards the door. I'm sure I'll see him around sometime – and evidence logging can't be _that_ bad, can it? On my way out of Agent Skinner's office, I hear Mulder call my name. I turn and see him jogging to catch up to me.

"Simonson, where are you off to?"

"My new assignment – the punitive evidence logging." He grimaces.

"Sorry – that's definitely my fault." I laugh.

"It's not _your_ fault. It's mine for not letting you die," I say with a grin.

"Well, if it's any comfort, I'm glad you didn't. Hey, speaking of evidence, I wouldn't expect to get your jacket back. So," he pulls his suit jacket off his arm to reveal a jacket almost identical to the one I was wearing that fateful night, "I thought I owed you a replacement."

"Mulder, you shouldn't have," but I let him set it around my shoulders all the same. It's so thoughtful, how could I refuse?

"It's the least I could do. Keep in touch, Simonson," he says with a wave as he heads into Skinner's office.

"You too, Mulder." At least something decent has come out of today. I make my way to the first floor warehouses after putting the new jacket in my briefcase. There's no way this assignment can be worse than my first day working with Mulder, so walking in, I feel rather confident. It's going to be tedious, no doubt, but that's nothing I can't handle.

I scan my ID to get through the door and approach the chain link fence that goes all the way to the top of the warehouse ceiling – nearly three stories. I head to the glass booth where the sign-in agent sits.

"Hi, my name is Laila Simonson. I was told to report here for my assignment," I tell the overweight, elderly agent.

"Hm. I wasn't told to expect you. Let me radio the manager." Fifteen minutes later, a sour-looking agent makes his way to the cage. Unlike Skinner's gruffness, which I suspect has been born out of a need to be cautious about who he trusts, he just seems angry.

"Yes, Agent Simonson. You're late." My new manager waves to the security guard, who buzzes the gate open. I step through.

"Sorry, I had a debriefing meeting at my previous assignment." He snorts.

"I don't know who your last supervisor was, but I don't tolerate tardiness." Did he even hear me? He looks me over with a sneer. "Name is Agent Woolden. You will refer to me as either 'Agent Woolden' or 'Sir Woolden'. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir Woolden." His gaze lingers on my chest. Did I somehow time jump two decades ago?

"Follow me." He leads me back between stacks of pallets to a desk underneath a shelving unit. God, this place is both mustier and darker than Mulder's office.

"You will be logging the serial numbers on these bills." He points to a crate full of hundreds. He logs me on to the computer. "You will be accurate. You will be timely. You will wear gloves. And you will not have any complaints. When you are finished recording a serial number, you will put the bills in plastic bags in these boxes." He points to more manageably-sized boxes that evidence is stored in. "Write the date, case number, and your badge number on each box. Get started," he orders.

But he doesn't leave. I guess it's understandable he wants to supervise me at first to see the quality of my work, but it feels like being babysat. The boss is an asshole, but I won't let that rattle me. I set my things on the floor and, carefully put on two latex gloves from a box on the desktop, select a bill, and input the serial number in the computer. I'm slower than I would like, but I know I need to be accurate right now. I repeat the process a few times with Woolden silent, but I can feel that he is still watching, waiting for me to make a mistake. I breathe a heavy sigh but continue regardless and ignore how sweaty my palms are getting inside the gloves.

I finally hear his footsteps depart thirty minutes later. I would _hope_ he has something more important to do than wait for me to make a mistake – what a waste of taxpayer dollars that would be. I manage to bear the day philosophically, in a sort of meditative state as I punch numbers into the computer, but it is a relief when it's 5 o'clock.

On my commute home, I keep my bearings about me and try to forget that I have to go back to the same mind-numbing task tomorrow. I didn't drag my ass through Quantico to sit at a desk logging evidence all day. I promise myself that tomorrow I'll check the internal job postings. If I'm off the mysterious cigarette man's radar, then I doubt he would concern himself with keeping me punished.

And yet, a month and countless applications to transfer later, I'm still logging evidence. At this point, I'm pretty confident it's not Smokey Man's doing but rather the record of the incident my first case and the stigma of being put into evidence logging. Sure, everything looks good on paper, but agents don't get put into evidence without a reason. Most of the managers are probably assuming I did _something_ wrong on that case.

Perhaps worst of all is that my favorite instructor at Quantico hasn't returned any of my calls. I even called the department office to check that he is still with the department and isn't on a rather lengthy vacation. So, that means for whatever reason, he's involved with this somehow. Every time I think of how he set me up for this, my stomach twists. Why on earth would he think I would do something so despicable as abandon my partner? I shake off the thought, realizing I had made a typo (I am now logging the serial numbers of guns, and have been, for a few weeks now).

Despite weeks of punctual and almost error-free work, my manager is still suspicious of everything I do and will not refrain from referring to me as "sweetheart." I don't know how much longer I can take this. And, as much as I would hate for these criminals who orchestrated Mulder's attempted assassination to win, I cannot stay in evidence logging much longer. I've decided I will have to quit and search for jobs outside the Bureau. However, I know that it will look incredibly odd on my resume to have graduated from Quantico but not have lasted more than two months at the FBI.

Noon has finally crawled its way to the present, so I head to lunch. I have thirty minutes to eat the rather dry sandwich I brought before Agent What-an-Ass comes barreling down the aisle to my desk.

"Simonson, Assistant Director Skinner is requesting your presence in his office." My eyebrows raise.

"Right now?"

"Yes, now move while you still have time on your lunch break, or you will stay after to make up the missed time." I need no further encouragement, and I certainly don't want to keep AD Skinner waiting.

At his office, his secretary waves me in. All the same, I knock briefly before I enter.

"Agent Skinner, how I can I help you?"

"Thanks for coming by, Agent Simonson." He sighs heavily. I approach his desk.

"Has Mulder or Scully kept you updated on the progress with this case?" We get lunch together about once a week, but we try not to talk shop. So I shake my head.

"Only that they've been having difficulty, naturally."

"That's putting it mildly. Neither man has had hits on DNA or prints or dental records. Agent Bradford's weapon didn't match the slug from the second would-be assassin – which was not a good mistake to make, let me tell you. Scully has just finished the last of the three re-autopsies and found they all _actually_ died of a heart attack, most likely caused by an injection of nicotine right before the post-mortem mauling."

"That should give the families some comfort, at least." I think for a moment. "But you didn't call me up here just to complain about a hard case," I say with a smile.

"No, you're right. It's just, you were there, I was hoping you could maybe remember something you forgot before that might give us a break in the case." I think for a moment, unsure if I should reveal my hunch to Skinner, but then I look into his deep brown eyes and know that I can.

"Well…I don't know how much this might help, or if I'm even right." He leans forward, encouraging me to continue. "One of my mentors at Quantico, a man named Jim Moriarty, is no longer returning my calls. We had talked my first day here, when I called to complain about how things were going with Mulder," I say, a little flushed, "and he had encouraged me to take the first opportunity to change the situation. Between the timing of giving me the cold shoulder and his comment, I can't help but suspect he is involved somehow. I know it's silly, but,"

"It's not silly. Thank you for telling me. Can you write down his full name and contact information?" I nod and jot down my former mentor's information. I check the clock on the wall – I still have ten minutes left on break.

"Was there anything else?"

"No," he says gruffly.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful."

"Don't be – we all figured the investigation would go like this. I'll keep you posted on if we dig up anything on Jim."

"Thank you." I'm halfway out the door before he calls out to me.

"Simonson," I turn back around, "you're a good agent. Don't forget that."

"Thank you, Agent Skinner." He gives me smile that verges on a grimace. There's no way for him to know how much that meant to me, but it managed to lift my spirits considerably. I manage to make it the rest of the day without banging my head on the desk even once.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Three weeks after my meeting with Skinner, I reach my breaking point when I forget to address my boss with a "Sir" and he moves me from evidence logging to filing the requests for evidence retrieval. I didn't go through Quantico for this, and I refuse to have that ignored any longer. I don't even use the in-house gym anymore; I ran into too many of my classmates there, and I hated the looks on their faces when I said I had been assigned to evidence logging.

I spend all day thinking of a variety of reasons for my short stint at the FBI: too much bureaucracy, not letting newer recruits work on case work, hazing – perhaps. Anything to get me out of here. The one major problem is that without a solid reference, no excuse will adequately explain staying for only a few months. I could ask Mulder, but our only real contact was on one case – choosing him as my reference would be just as suspect. I certainly can't ask my current boss. I sigh, thinking the situation is hopeless, before I remember my last conversation with Agent Skinner. He did say I was a good agent, didn't he? He doesn't seem like the type of man who says anything he doesn't completely believe. The thought of asking such a serious and busy man to vouch for me makes me nervous, but I don't exactly have a lot of other options.

The next morning, I'm waiting outside Skinner's office when he arrives. Dropping by unannounced isn't the best way to endear myself to him before such a request, but I couldn't make it through another day at work without having an answer – hopefully, one that gives me a window out of the FBI.

"Agent Simonson, to what do I owe the visit?" he asks while unlocking his door. "If you're inquiring after that mentor of yours, you're right that he's dirty, but we haven't been able to make anything stick." I hold my hand to stop his explanation.

"I didn't want to talk about that, actually." That raises his eyebrows. "You…I can't stay in evidence any longer. I'm going to start applying for jobs outside of the Bureau, but I'm going to need a reference to vouch for my character and confirm my excuse for leaving after such a short time." He nods in understanding.

"I am completely willing to do that for you, but it would be a shame for the Bureau to lose you. I understand that evidence is unbearable – you were trained to work cases, not type numbers in a computer – but you're a good agent."

"Thank you, Agent Skinner, but I can't stay in evidence in hopes I'll eventually be placed somewhere else."

"Give me a day – if I can't find a position for you, apply away. But if I can, are you willing to stay with the Bureau?"

"Yes, absolutely." I'm a little breathless; I didn't even think that was a possibility. "The second to last thing I want is for these assholes to win – I know they want me gone."

"What's the last thing?" he asks, a little amused.

"Staying in evidence," I say with all seriousness, but that manages to make him smile. He sits at his desk and starts writing a note.

"Fair enough. What did you do before you went to Quantico?"

"I was a toxicologist, working on occupational health and safety."

"That's good – concrete skills. Any lab experience?" I nod.

"I would often run tests in the company lab rather than outsource it."

"Okay, I'll let you know as soon as I find something."

"Thank you, Agent Skinner. Really." He nods in farewell, and I head back to the evidence warehouse to get out of his hair, figuratively, of course.

Not two hours later, my boss stalks up behind me. "That Agent Skinner is asking to see you again." That was fast – hopefully that means good news and not that he reached a dead end that quickly. I realize my boss was telling me that I will have to make up the time I miss, but I give myself the luxury of an eye roll on the way out. I am daring to hope I'll never have to see his face again. On the elevator ride up, I can't help fantasize about telling him to go fuck himself as I collect my things. Please, Skinner, have good news.

His secretary waves me in when I arrive.

"That was fast," I comment as I walk in.

"Caught a break of luck – there's a position in the environmental crimes unit, which happens to be run by an old war buddy of mine. I'll owe him a favor, but it's worth it to piss off whoever designed your assignment to evidence." I can't help but smile.

"That's great! When can I start?"How will I ever repay this man for his kindness?

"Does today work?" Internally, I start cheering.

"Most wonderfully," I say with a mischievous glint in my eye. Looks like some dreams do come true. Skinner passes me a casefile.

"Floor 6, room number 315 is where your new boss will be. Well, your supervisor. I technically am your boss again now, but you'll do all your reporting to him." That means more contact with the handsome Skinner, so that's not too shabby.

"Thank you so much. I really don't even know how I can thank you enough." He holds up a hand for me to stop.

"Don't worry about it – I'm glad I was able to help." Not wanting to take up anymore of his time, I head back to the first floor to take my briefcase and bid my hellish boss adieu.

I pick up my things, but I can't find my boss anywhere, so I leave word of my new assignment with the agent taking care of evidence requests. Too bad I won't be able to see his face, but this way is almost better as I don't have to see him again.

Up to the sixth floor, I find office 315 and knock. A slightly overweight man who looks slightly older than Skinner answers.

"You must be Agent Simonson. Welcome, welcome." He ushers me inside and motions for me to take a seat. He's more cheerful than I would expect any friend of Skinner's to be. "So glad we were able to get this position filled. What did Skinner tell you about it?"

"Not too much, just that it was with the environmental crimes department. I'm sure he mentioned to you that I have a background in toxicology, specifically occupational health and safety."

"Yes, he did, and that's part of why you're going to be such a great fit here, I'm sure. Whenever federal facilities are out of compliance with environmental standards or there are issues of environmental contamination, the FBI, specifically this division, gets involved. We also do some work monitoring private companies, especially near state borders, and investigate any tips we get. And if you're interested in that, you can definitely move over there after a while, but for now we need you investigating federal sites."

"That's fine by me. I only had the chance to just glance at the case file Skinner gave me, but it looks like there's some military bases where soldiers are coming down with inexplicable symptoms?" He nods.

"Yes, this is a case of finding the contamination."

"Is the military willing to comply with the tests necessary to determine that?"

"Usually. If you have any pushback, try going up the food chain, if that still doesn't work, send them to me."

"Very well."

"I'll show you to your desk." We walk down the well-lit and decorated hallway. What a breath of fresh air. "Unfortunately, this division of the FBI is always understaffed, so we only partner up on cases that pose a possible danger to our agents. All the same, since this is your first case of this type, if you're having trouble, just let me know and I'll find a free agent."

After I set down my things at what will be my desk, my new boss introduces me around the department. Although everyone is working hard, they still find time to be friendly. I think this is going to be a good position. I should really send Agent Skinner a card or something. I spend the rest of the day familiarizing myself with the case, and tomorrow I plan to head to the first site, which is right on the Potomac River. I have a couple ideas of where the toxins could be coming from, based on the soldiers that have been effected and the fact that most of the symptoms so far have been dermal – skin irritation, rashes, blisters, that sort of thing.

For the first time in almost two months, I'm excited to go to work in the morning. I go in early to hit the gym – I haven't been active enough these past couple of weeks, and if I'm investigating without a partner, I feel it would be prudent to keep my fitness peaked. At nine, I check in with my boss to let him know I'm headed to the first site of contamination and then get myself an FBI vehicle for the day so I can more easily transport my field testing kit.

On the drive, nerves begin to grow in my stomach. I've never actually been to a military base, and although they requested FBI assistance on this problem, I still doubt I'll be warmly received.

When I arrive and flash my badge, a stone-faced guard tells me where to park and to meet with the Lieutenant General. He buzzes the gate open, and I drive inside. I'll have to confirm the assignments of the sick soldiers with the Lt. General, but from the assignments that were listed in the file, these men were mostly working as groundskeepers, thus I will be collecting all sorts of soil tests. But, assuming I can locate the contaminated areas, I'll still need to determine the root of the contamination and how to stop it.

I make it to the Lt. General's office without having to ask for directions. His secretary tells me he's in a meeting when I get there, so I give her my phone number and tell her to call me when he's free. In the meantime, I'm going to be doing some tests.

"Are there any maps of the base available?" She hands me a sheet of paper, but it just denotes where the buildings and the paths are, not what the purpose of each building is. "Is there anything…more specific? I don't really have the time or the supplies to test near every building."

"Well, what are you looking for? Maybe I can point you to buildings that would be of interest."

"I'm looking for anything that might generate pollution – weapons storage, chemical or radioactive testing, labs, weapon decommissioning, incinerators or garbage, even sewer lines." She takes my map back and puts asterisks on a few of the buildings.

"The Lt. General might be able to tell you more, but I know that these buildings all serve one of those purposes."

"Thank you." I set off, somewhat nervous. I don't want to come up empty handed and out of leads. The first few tests I do come up normal, but I collect samples all the same to do more detailed analysis back at the FBI laboratory. I move to my fourth building, and as I'm mixing the soil with the indicator solution, it turns bright pink, indicting the strong presence of a heavy metal pollutant, but as I'm pouring the liquid into the bacteria tray, the color fades. I can't believe my eyes. I am about to perform the test again when my cell phone rings. I peel of my gloves to answer, and it's the Lt. General's secretary telling me he is free to meet. I pack up, but I make a note on the map where I need to return to.

Heading back to the Lieutenant's office, I spy two familiar faces walking my way.

"Agent Scully? Agent Mulder? What are you doing here?"

 **A/N: Back to the X-files mysteries we love!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: this chapter gets pretty long, but things with Skinner are going to get very interesting these next few chapters!**

Chapter 11

"Simonson! What are _you_ doing here? Did you finally make it out of evidence?" Mulder asks.

"Yes," I can't keep the enthusiasm from my voice, "thanks to Agent Skinner. He helped get me transferred to environmental crimes. I'm looking for the contamination that is causing soldiers on this base to get sick." The two exchange a look. "But what are you two doing here?"

"We are also on a case. Interestingly enough, we're also looking into whatever is affecting the soldiers here. But," Scully looks to Mulder, "I wouldn't exactly use the word sick to describe what's happening here."

"Skin irritation, rashes, boils – what else would you call that?" Now they look even more confused.

"We weren't aware of that. We just know that two officers here in the past month have gone off the deep end – committed what looks like suicide by mutilating themselves." I raise my eyebrows.

"And I was unaware of that." My brain is already searching for a potential connection between the two investigations, and I suspect Scully, with her medical background, is doing the same. "But I have to meet with the Lieutenant General. Can I catch up with you after?"

"Of course. Call me when you're out," Mulder offers. "But don't expect too much help from him – he was rather close-lipped with us."

"Thanks for the warning."

At his office, his secretary waves me in.

"Agent Simonson, I presume?" A grey-haired, tall man greets me. His face is lined with a scowl.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you for finding the time to meet with me. I just have a few questions." I sit and open my notebook. "The file I was given contained a few of the job descriptions of some of the men affected, but the others are not listed. Is that information you can give me?"

"Yes, I oversaw much of the daily operations here." I list off the names – Private Deringer, Corporal Johnson, Captain Walker, and on – and he tells me their duties. Two were in weapons storage, three in grounds keeping and maintenance, three in security, and then I ask a name and get no response.

"Lieutenant? What was Captain Eckleberg's position?" I'm met with stony silence and a fierce glare.

"Unfortunately, that is classified information." My eyebrows shoot up. What job duty could be classified? I try another approach.

"What about what building he worked in? Or what portion of the base he spent most of his time?"

"He worked in building F45, just a few hundred feet from here." I'll have to double check on my map, but I'm pretty sure that's where I found the contamination.

"Thank you. Actually, could you give me the locations of where all the men have been working?"

"Not off the top of my head. You'll have to check with operations for their daily assignments." I'll have to stop by there for sure.

"And how have the soldiers been responding to treatment? They're being treated here on the base, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am. I had my reporting officer look into that before you arrived so that I could give you a summary. The doctors said the men have responded best to anti-radiation therapies." I raise my eyebrows at that, too.

"How could the men have been exposed to radiation here? The base does not have a nuclear reactor, and this certainly doesn't seem like a wise or secure enough place to store nuclear weapons."

"You can postulate all you like, but I cannot confirm or deny anything you said, because it is classified." I nod solemnly. I'll have to interview some of the men on the base to get a straight answer about that.

"And these symptoms only began arising a few weeks ago, is that correct?"

"Well, the men had some minor skin irritation starting a few weeks before that. It wasn't until recently that it got bad enough that they reported it."

"Have there been any changes on base activities, personnel, food supplier, anything, that corresponds to that timeline?"

"You know what, I appreciate the time you took to come out here, but I'm afraid that's all I have to say on this matter." I scrutinize him.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I simply have nothing more to say about this. Thank you for your time." He stands and gestures for the door. I take my leave, still curious about why that question inspired such an abrupt conclusion to our meeting.

I ask his secretary for directions to the infirmary, and on my way over I leave a voicemail on Mulder's cell telling him where he and Scully can meet me. But, once I arrive, I find Scully and Mulder trying to see the same men I am. I add my voice and badge to the argument, but the nurses are adamant that we cannot visit the men. I explain that I am trying to determine the source of what is making them sick and threaten to tell the Lieutenant General about their obstruction of my investigation, but they claim to be operating on the orders of his superior – the Major General. The three of us give up and head outside.

"You two were trying to see if those men might know the two men who died?" The partners nod.

"There has to be some sort of connection," Mulder postulates.

"I feel that way too, but there is no pathogen or contaminant that would cause such different symptomology. Suicide or self-harm is entirely unrelated from pollutants that cause rashes or lesions."

"Do you have access to photographs of the symptoms of the men being treated?" Scully asks. I nod.

"Yeah, I can give them to you back at headquarters. We can get the men's daily assignment information from operations, which might help narrow down what they were exposed to, but first I want to show you both something." I lead them back to the building where I had the unusual test results and perform the test again with them watching as the sample turns bright pink and then fades.

"What does that indicate?" Mulder asks.

"Some sort of heavy metal, but it makes no sense that it would fade like that."

"Maybe there is a very specific spot of contamination that the indicator neutralized. It looks like this area was just landscaped, maybe they imported some contaminated soil," Scully suggests. I purse my lips.

"Maybe…Or maybe the pollutant was very short lived."

"That's not typical for heavy metals," Scully counters. I brush off my knees and stand.

"I suppose not. And there's other places on the base I should investigate. Shall we?" We head to operations, and although the officer on duty is initially reluctant to do so, with three FBI agents ordering him to, he retrieves the duty logs for the past month.

"Are these organized by anything – location, duty, alphabetically?" Scully asks.

"No, ma'am, just by date." The three of us eye the twenty massive binders with trepidation.

"Well, Simonson, it's been nice seeing you again, but we have to go investigate our case," Mulder starts and turns around, but Scully grabs his coat sleeve.

"Mulder, you know as well as I do that these cases are related. Grab some binders," Scully orders while grabbing a stack herself. The three of us keep a list of the eleven names and their respective ID numbers – my nine sick men and their two dead soldiers – and as we scan through the duty logs, when we come across one, we record the date, duty, and location.

Since there are maybe a thousand men on the base who aren't the ones we are looking for, flipping through the pages goes rather quickly. It's mostly a battle against my eyes glazing over, but every time I find one of the names we need, a jolt of energy goes through me. This might be tedious, but at least it's not evidence logging. Slowly, a pattern emerges.

Eight of the men we are looking for are listed relatively often, and the three groundskeepers who have symptoms all worked for about a week in the area where I found the odd soil tests. The sick security guards also all worked in that building. The two working in weapons storage worked on an adjacent building, so my first thought is that the weapons are leaking toxins into the soil – I'll need to test around that building before it gets too dark. But three of the men – the two dead ones and the one with the classified job – do not appear in any of the duty logs for the latter half of the month.

Scully sighs, pulling her glasses off. "You were right, Simonson, there's something going on in or near that building. But why aren't the late Dr. Copperfield and Dr. Pleat in these logs?"

"They were doctors?" Maybe they were treating the contaminated men.

"Well, scientists."

"Hmm."

"Something on your mind, Simonson?" Mulder asks.

"Well, I'm thinking…I mean, granted, this is just a hypothesis. But the Lieutenant General told me one of the men's, Eckleberg's, duty was classified. Maybe he was helping the two scientists with weapons research. And these security guards were helping keep the lab secure, and the groundskeepers were digging around in soil that had been contaminated by tests, and the weapons storage men had either moved the weapon or performed upkeep on it." The two partners exchange a look.

"It's certainly possible," Mulder says. "We really need to talk with those sick men, especially Eckleberg – figure out if he was working with the doctors." I nod.

"But until then, let's see if we can get into these buildings – F45 and F43 – and if we can find a lab," Scully suggests.

"We'll see how deep we can get," Mulder says, guiding Scully with him with a hand on her back. These two seem touchier than most...not for the first time since meeting them, I wonder if their relationship is strictly professional. But that's none of my business.

While they investigate inside, I do some more soil tests and collect samples. I work from the side of the building towards the weapons storage building, doing soil tests every meter. Three meters from the first building, the tests start coming up normal. I run through the full field test, but every category is normal. Maybe the culprit was imported soil. I head over to the second building, expecting a resurgence of the heavy metal, but the tests come up normal. So weapons storage doesn't appear to be the culprit.

I catch up with Scully and Mulder as they leave the building and tell them what the tests showed and that I'm thinking imported contaminated soil.

"No, Simonson, you were definitely right the first time. They're doing something in that building they shouldn't be – there was a guard posted right inside, and he refused to let us farther into the building. All the doors had keypads and card swipes to get through, and they were some serious doors – reinforced steel, no doubt," Mulder says.

"We asked the guard about the two doctors, and his face went completely stone-faced. He claimed to not know them, but he was lying," Scully adds. I eye the building suspiciously.

"That guard, did he have any lesions on him, patches of red skin?" They both shake their heads. "Scully, come with me if you please." I head back into the building, my badge already open. I spot the guard, who sits at a desk with his back to the rest of the building.

"Sir, I am conducting an investigation about lethal contamination on this site. I need to know if you've been contaminated so you can seek medical care." His face is white. "Have you experienced any unexplained rashes or skin irritation lately?"

"I…there's this rash, on my back. It showed up a few days ago. I figured it was no big deal." His voice is panicked.

"Agent Scully is a doctor – will you let her take a look at it?" He nods and immediately pulls his jacket over his head. I pass her some latex gloves from my kit. As she examines the rash, I ask the man questions, keeping my voice level. "How long have you had this assignment?"

"About a week," he stutters.

"And there are two other men who work with you here?" He nods.

"One for each shift of the day." Scully finishes up her examination.

"Looks like low-level radiation exposure to me," she mutters to me.

"You should report to the infirmary about the rash after your shift, officer. You should be fine with some medical attention." As we leave, Scully looks at me disapprovingly.

"You shouldn't have scared him like that."

"If I hadn't, we wouldn't know we were right." I report back to Mulder, that whatever is going on in that building is making people sick.

"Someone has to have realized by now that these men have all been exposed to whatever it is those scientists were working on."

"Maybe they just don't care," Mulder suggests. My stomach clenches at the idea, but he could be right.

"But then why report it to the Bureau? Why ask for an outside consultant to investigate?" The two partners shrug.

In the weapons storage building, Mulder makes some well-worded questions to the supervisor on staff, who informs us that research is done in that next building, but he doesn't know what. He also doesn't know why, but about a month ago, the two weapons storage men who got sick were asked to help unpack a shipment of something, but he doesn't know what, just that he was short staffed for a few hours.

"Needing to be hospitalized after only a few hours of exposure? This is some serious stuff," I mention to Scully and Mulder on the way back to our cars.

"Yeah, maybe even extraterrestrial," Mulder mutters.

"Mulder, there is no evidence for that," Scully admonishes.

"Whatever it is they're working with, it must be very technologically advanced, at least."

"How do you figure?" Scully asks.

"A few things. One, whatever contamination is in the soil is very short lived – remember how the test faded to normal after a few seconds? That and the symptoms of those exposed suggest radioactive decay. And I've read that in the particle accelerators, the scientists create incredibly unstable, short lived elements that have a lot of mass. Perhaps those register as heavy metals. Since they're so short lived, it's been impossible to study them. But particle accelerators occupy kilometers of space – there's no way, at least with current knowledge – to create elements like that with such a small space. Also, high exposure to radiation does cause disorientation – perhaps that is what caused those scientists to hurt themselves." But Scully is shaking her head.

"At radiation exposure that severe, there would have been more symptoms of it on their bodies – I did their autopsies myself." I shrug, somewhat disappointed.

"Well, I guess it's back to the drawing board."

"You two head back to headquarters; I want to get copies of the base's shipment logs." Scully waves him away, and the two of us head to my car.

"So, what do you think caused those scientists to hurt themselves?"

"I'm still stumped. I know it's silly, but it's possible Mulder is right about whatever technology they're using here being alien."

"Really?" She seemed so dismissive of the idea.

"We had worked a case a long time ago where pilots driving advanced technology – perhaps even alien – planes suffered from mental breakdowns due to stress." I sit with that for a few minutes, trying to figure out how studying alien technology could cause someone so much stress as to have a breakdown.

"I think the only way to confirm that is to figure out exactly what it was they were working with."

"Agreed. But that might be an impossible task."

"At least we know the area of contamination and have a good idea of what's causing it. Tomorrow I'll go back to the base and talk to the Lieutenant, tell him what needs to be done to protect the soldiers working in that area. That might help them find a cure, too."

Back at headquarters, I take Scully upstairs so she can examine the photos of the sick men.

"They definitely do look like radiation exposure. Mind if I make a few copies of these?"

"Be my guest." While I wait for her to return, I type up my field report for the day. The original photos returned to me and my daily report finished, I drop the soil samples off at the lab and then head home to the quiet solitude of my apartment.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The next morning, after some cardio in the FBI gym, I find Mulder waiting at my desk.

"Scully said you were going to tell the base about the radiation their tests are causing."

"That's correct. Did you really need to come see me to talk about that?" I say with a slight smile.

"Yes. Because you cannot tell them what you know."

"Mulder, what do you mean? It's my job to."

"If you tell them what we know, they'll either stop the tests or cover up all evidence of them. How are we then going to be able to figure out why those two men killed themselves? How are we going to be able to prove that our government knew the consequences of their tests but continued nonetheless?"

"Mulder, I sympathize that it is possible with this information the military might cover up some of their activities more than they already were. But men are getting sick from this, and we need to do what we can to prevent more unwilling participants getting hurt by this."

"A lot more people could be saved by figuring out just what is going on in that lab." He's starting to raise his voice, and my coworkers that have already arrived are starting to take notice.

" _Maybe._ We can't know for sure."

"And we won't know for sure if you tip them off that we know what they're up to. There could be evidence of an international conspiracy of silence in that lab, and you're willing to put that in jeopardy because of a little radiation sickness?" I bite my cheek to keep my anger in check, but my voice still comes out steely.

"Mulder, kindly get your vendetta out of my office so that I can do my job."

"Fine," he says through gritted teeth. As soon as he leaves, I roll my eyes. Mulder's passion is all well and good until you're on the receiving side of it. But I put our conversation from my mind and head to the base, notepad, Geiger counter to test directly for radiation, and soil test kid in hand.

I first head back to the building of interest, and I use the Geiger counter to see elevated radiation levels, but that fluctuate wildly from normal to unsafe even as I'm doing the tests. I think back to when the soil came up as normal – perhaps these fluctuations are caused when the machine is turned on or off. What could be producing this much radiation, however, still stumps me.

All the same, I'm going to fill the Lieutenant General in on what I know. But when I go to see him, his secretary tells me he hasn't come in yet today. I check my watch – it's nearly 11 o'clock. I'm about to ask her to call me when he comes in, but then I notice the worry lining her face.

"Is this normal for him?"

"He hasn't missed a day in the five years I've worked for him. And he hasn't been answering his phone either." I absorb that information.

"Can you give me his home address?" I ask after a moment's consideration. She nods and scribbles it on to a piece of paper.

"I sent him a Christmas card every year," she says as explanation. I nod and thank her. On my way to the infirmary, I call Scully and tell her about the Lt. General. She seems as concerned as I feel, and she promises that Mulder and her will do a wellness check at his residence. With that taken care of, I switch off my phone so I won't be interrupted at the infirmary.

* * *

"You asked to see me, Sir?" Mulder says while entering my office.

"Yes. It is my understanding that you and Agent Simonson had a confrontation this morning."

"Since when is that the business of the Assistant Director?"

"It is when it's related to a case. And when you actively tell another agent not to report the facts of her case." I'm hoping that shames him – thankfully it does.

"I'm sorry, Sir. Is that all?"

"Not quite. Do you believe this contamination at the military site is," I don't know how to phrase this without sounding like a lunatic, "related to a top secret project?"

"Absolutely I do. A top secret conspiracy against the American people to be more exact, but yes." I sigh.

"If you're right, why would they ask for the FBI's assistance in determining the source of contamination?"

"Maybe not everyone was in agreement about that course of action. Simonson had just called Scully and told her the Lt. General didn't show up for work today."

"Am I to understand that despite believing Simonson might have uncovered evidence of 'alien technology'," I read from his field report the day before, "evidence it seems the military desires to keep hidden, that she is at the base by herself?" I try to keep the rage at his negligence from my voice. Mulder just shrugs.

"I didn't think of it like that. But she's a good agent; she can take care of herself." I'm dialing her cell number before Mulder finishes his bone-headed statement.

"I'd like to have some assurance that she won't need to, seeing that this is only her _second case_." No answer on her cell.

"Get yourself to that base, Agent."

"It's my understanding you essentially assigned her this case yourself. Why do that if you were so doubtful of her capabilities?" Great, I was hoping the strings I pulled for her would remain a secret.

"I don't appreciate the insinuation in your tone, Agent Mulder." For a moment I consider leaving it at that – I don't owe him an explanation. "But if you must know, I thought this would be a place where she could recover from the blight on her record that is the case she worked with _you._ " That successfully gets him to lower his head with shame.

"I'll head right over," he concedes. I sigh heavily as he leaves, rubbing the bridge of my nose under my glasses. It's stupid to care about any agent this much, but I can't help but feel responsible for her string of bad luck. I should have removed her from the x-files the first day I met her. _But then Mulder would be dead,_ a voice in the back of my head whispers. I shake my head to dislodge such thoughts. One way or another, it seems Agent Simonson is mixed up with the x-files as much as Scully, Mulder, and myself.

* * *

At the infirmary, I manage to catch one nurse alone and sweet-talk my way back to see Eckleberg by insisting all I want is to help these men get better.

"Captain Eckleberg?" I ask the bandaged man on an IV.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Hi, I'm Agent Simonson with the FBI. I'm trying to determine where the radiation that's making you sick is coming from. Can I ask you a few questions?"

"Go ahead, but I might not be able to answer all of them."

"I understand. The Lieutenant General told me what you were working on is classified. But can you tell me who you were working with?" He nods and begin listing names. I quickly jot them down – when he says Dr. Copperfield and Dr. Pleat, the two dead doctors, I know there's a connection between the Mulder and Scully's case. I take careful note of the other doctor's names, as they might also be in danger. He tells me he was only working in the lab a few days when the first symptoms started appearing.

"As far as you know, were any safety measures taken to prevent exposure to any toxins?" He shrugs and sort of shakes his head.

"We were told to wash our hands after being in the lab – that was it."

"There wasn't any protective gear?" He shakes his head. "Any lead or metal shielding?" Also head shake. How can anyone in this day and age be so blind about the dangers of working with radioactive machines?

A man appears in the room, and he doesn't look happy.

"Agent Simonson, I presume? I'm Major General Swift. May I speak to you?" He phrases it as a question, but he already has his arm around me and is guiding me out of the room.

"Thank you for your time, Captain," I call behind me as I'm nearly dragged out of the room and the infirmary as a whole.

"Who gave you permission to speak to that man?" he demands. I draw myself up to my full height.

"The justice department, Quantico, the President – take your pick. I work for the FBI, and I am here at the military's request – I don't need permission to properly investigate this problem." His face turns a shade of scarlet, but he keeps his no doubt angry retort contained.

"I understand you wanted to speak with the Lt. General about your findings on this disease." Interesting word choice. I take a pace back to regain my personal space.

"Yes, I did, but it is also my understanding that he is not here yet today."

"You are more than welcome to give your report to me. After all, I am his superior officer." He closes the distance between us again to where my space feels invaded.

"Major General, I appreciate you being willing to take the time to speak with me, but I'm not sure my report is polished enough yet for your station. I'm still hypothesizing about the source of the pollution." His eyes gleam at that. For some reason, I start feeling that dread I felt my first case in the woods. I really would like to grab a hold of my weapon.

"I don't mind hypotheticals. Come to my office – it's just over here." He starts gesturing for an industrial looking part of the base – where barracks and cranes and smokestacks reside. Somehow I doubt that's the direction of his office. I need an excuse to decline, but my mind has shortened out.

"Simonson, there you are!" Mulder's voice calls out. We both turn to face him – he's not fifteen feet away. The Major General starts some at the appearance of this third person and backs slightly away from me. I repress heaving a sigh of relief – I don't want him to know how intimidated I was. "I've been looking all over for you. Agent Mulder, nice to meet you," Mulder introduces himself, gregarious as ever.

"Major General Swift. How do you do, Agent?"

"Just fine, just fine." With the appearance of Mulder, I decide to push my luck.

"Would you still like that report on my findings now? We can head to your office this way, was it?" I make a show of starting to walk in the direction of the crane.

"I actually just remembered I have a meeting I need to get to," the man says and hurries off without a goodbye.

"You alright?" Mulder asks tenderly, no trace of the disagreement we had this morning. I swallow hard and release my sigh of relief.

"Yeah, I am. Just a little shook up. I think that man was going to try to kill me," I confide, surprised I'm even saying those words. Mulder shrugs.

"On a base this big, he probably figured he could get away with it. He definitely has something to hide."

"It seemed that way. You should have seen the way he dragged me out of the infirmary. Oh," I exclaim, remembering I got the names of who Eckleberg was working with. "I was able to interview Eckleberg, and he was working with the two dead scientists.

"You're kidding." He grabs my notepad to look it over himself. "Thanks for getting this information, Simonson."

"Sure thing. I'm as curious as you are." I hesitate for a moment. "Speaking of curious, what are you doing here? I thought you would be poring over the shipment logs today."

"I'm here babysitting you on A.D. Skinner's request." My mouth drops open. Why would Skinner assign me a babysitter? "Sorry, that probably wasn't the best phrasing. He was worried about your safety when he learned that our two cases might be connected to each other and this conspiracy I'm slowly uncovering." That's…intriguing. Both this conspiracy and Skinner's concern. I wonder…no, that'd be silly. Mulder continues.

"Also, the Lt. General was found dead in his house." I gasp even though I suspected as much. "Scully is doing his autopsy right now – he had a similar pattern of self-injuries as the two scientists, but it's off. According to Scully's preliminary report, it looks like someone tried to imitate what they knew about the past two cases."

"Someone perhaps like our quick-tempered and twitchy Major General."

"Yeah, someone like him."

"I want to figure out who asked for FBI assistance on this case, and I think I know who to ask." The two of us head to find the Lieutenant General's secretary. At our appearance, she assumes the worst.

"He's dead, isn't he?" We both solemnly nod.

"It was that bastard Swift, wasn't it?" Mulder and I exchange a look. It's kind of nice having someone to silently communicate with.

"What makes you say that?" Mulder asks.

"In the past couple of weeks, the two of them have been arguing. A lot. I could hear them through the door. Then, a few days ago, Swift came by, and he was completely enraged. If he could have fired the Lieutenant, I think he would have."

"Do you know what they were arguing about?" I ask. She shakes her head.

"I could only hear pieces. They disagreed about something regarding the base, the right course of action. Swift was always willing to sacrifice for a bigger victory, but the Lieutenant cared about the soldiers here." Mulder thanks her, and the two of us head out.

"I want to get the hell off this base," I whisper to Mulder.  
"Agreed." We walk back to our cars.

"I bet that it was the Lieutenant who requested FBI assistance on this case. I bet he knew that the tests were making the soldier sick, and that the Major General didn't care about it. Maybe he didn't even know what they were doing, but just wanted better precautions for the safety of the men to be taken." I nod in agreement.

"I'll have to check the case file to see who made the request, but I would put money on it being the Lieutenant."

"So what are you going to do? Are you going to report your findings?" Mulder asks.

"Not yet. I want Swift to think we know less than we do – maybe that will make him reckless and expose something he shouldn't. Besides, I need to see the results of the soil tests I dropped off at the lab. And there's some scientists I want to talk to."

Back and headquarters, Mulder goes down to the morgue to see how Scully is doing on the autopsy, and I head back to my desk. I want to send a few emails to the Department of Energy – I need to talk to their scientists about particle accelerators. On my desk, I see the print out of the soil tests. There are vast concentrations of rare metals – metals that the unstable products of particle acceleration decay into.

"How is this possible?" I mutter.

"Agent Simonson?" my boss calls from behind me, well, my supervisor.

"Hi, how are you?"

"I'm fine. How are _you_? I heard you and Agent Mulder arguing this morning. Is everything okay?" I nod.

"I think so, Sir, thank you for checking."

"Was everything okay at the base?"

"I…there may have been some developments in this case that extend beyond contamination. Can we speak in your office?" He nods. I wait to tell the whole story until we are behind a closed door. My first case taught me that just because someone works at the Bureau doesn't mean they can be trusted.

When I'm finished briefing him about the mysterious source of contamination, the possible relation to two apparent suicides and one murder, and the highly suspicious Major General, I wait for his response.

"This is…a bit more than the typical environmental crime case."

"I should hope they're not all this difficult," I say with a smile.

"Has A.D. Skinner been made aware of this?" I shrug.

"Bits and pieces, I believe."

"I don't know if you should give the military your full report yet or not. Skinner might have a better idea – this big picture stuff isn't really my venue, and if this information has anything to do with a murder investigation, that takes priority." I nod in understanding. "I suggest you make sure that Skinner has been fully briefed on the implications of what you've found and see what he says."

"Thank you for your time, Sir." He just nods and takes an Aspirin as I head out the door. I phone Skinner's secretary for an appointment time, but it's right around lunch time, so when she doesn't pick up, I head upstairs to see if I can catch him.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Up a floor, I wait outside of Skinner's office. To my surprise, the cigarette-scented man I met in the elevator my first day walks out of Skinner's office. I didn't realize how in contact Skinner was with him. I can't help narrow my eyes when I see him, and the flash of recognition and surprise on the mystery man's face reveals he remembers me. I'd prefer if he didn't.

"Who is that man?" I ask, barging in to Skinner's office.

"Is that what you came up here to talk about?" he asks sardonically. Perhaps I shouldn't have spoken to my rather generous boss so harshly.

"No," I say, sufficiently cowed. "Do you have a minute?" He nods. I brief him on the evidence and theories I've collected so far in my case while he listens silently. At the end, he heaves a sigh.

"And I'm guessing that Mulder wants to the information you've gathered suppressed while he works on his murder investigation." I nod.

"I didn't know what to do, and my supervisor said I'd better run anything by you." He stands and turns his back to me, gazing out the windows behind his desk and sighing. He sticks his hands into his pockets, pulling his slacks tight on his rather good-looking backside. I berate myself for noticing that and try to keep my thoughts more professionally engaged the second he turns to face me.

"Keep what you know quiet for a few days – if Mulder and Scully haven't found anything by then, give the military your report."

"Alright, thank you, sir." I head for the door. "Oh," I add, almost forgetting, "thank you for sending Mulder to the base this morning." His gaze flicks to mine, clouded with worry. That's the first time I've seen such an open expression in his eyes. "His appearance may have saved my life."

"How so?" His dark voice is angry, and all I can do is hope he's not angry with me. I shift a little uncomfortably all the same.

"Well, I just. I got a bad feeling from the Major General. He seemed to have something nefarious planned for me. It seemed he was trying to lure me away from populated areas of the base."

"That is a serious accusation. Did you inform Mulder of this?" I nod.

"I did, Sir. And he agreed with my assessment." There is a silence I don't know how to fill. "Anyways, I just thought I ought to thank you." He simply stares in response, so I head out of the door.

As I wait for Mulder and Scully to work on the murder investigation and what happened to the scientists, I start looking into the two other military sites across the country – one in Nebraska, the other Nevada, of all places – that are having similar radiation sickness symptoms. I have the local FBI divisions collect soil samples and send them my way so that I can run comparison tests on them. If I can determine the elements in the soils are the same, I can be relatively certain that the same technology is causing the contamination at each site. And that might help Mulder figure out exactly what is going on and how it relates to his alien conspiracy that he has informed me the details of over the past few days.

Unsurprisingly but amazingly, the lab test results show the soil samples to be nearly identical. Whatever is going on here is even more widespread that I dared believe. I take a print out of the elements in the soil to an after-office hours interview I am having with a scientist in the Department of Energy.

"Where on earth did you find this soil?" he asks the minute he sees the results. I shrug.

"It's part of an ongoing investigation, so I would rather not discuss the specifics, if that's alright. Can you just tell me if it's consistent with the products of a particle accelerator?"

"Well, yes, technically. But I don't know of anything that could create such high concentrations. What we work with right now, Agent Simonson, by the time we have the machine up and running to a point where unnilquadium is created, that which was created the previous run will already have decayed through its lifecycle down to carbon. Here, there are all sorts of products in the decay cycle, meaning this soil is being exposed to unnilqadium at rates unknown to science." The gravity of his statement doesn't escape either of us. "I'm being completely honest when I say that us at the DOE know nothing of any project that would cause this. So, I ask you again, where were these soils recovered from? This could be a matter of national security."

"With all due respect, Sir, I don't think so, as it was recovered from a military base. And the DOE might want to improve its oversight capabilities." He nods enthusiastically. "Thank you for your help."

Back at the office, I need phone the x-files office. I know the two are going to be working late since they only have until 10 AM tomorrow until I release my report to the military. However, at my desk, I notice my phone is slightly off the hook. That's odd – I know it wasn't that way when I left. I'm sure the night janitor just bumped it, but I unclip my holster all the same; I'm not going to disregard the way my skin is crawling. Now that my instincts are piqued, I notice more things askew. I carefully unlock the desk drawer where I keep my ongoing casefiles. The papers are definitely disturbed.

I relock the desk and back away and into the hallway. There's hardly anyone here this time of night, and I don't want to take any chances. I phone security from my cell, telling them I want someone from forensics to dust my desk for prints. I'm dialing Mulder's cell when a fire alarm goes off. Instincts overriding logic, I dart for the nearest stairwell. Halfway down the first flight of stairs, I remember my soil samples sitting in the lab as well as the print outs of the results. This is probably a false alarm anyways, maybe even a diversion for the intruder to make it out of the building unnoticed. I want to make sure my evidence is safe.

I re-enter the main building, racing through the hallways towards the lab. Is it just my imagination or is it getting harder to see? Then the smell hits me, and I run even faster towards the lab. Rounding the corner, I cover my nose and mouth with my jacket sleeve as a wall of smoke and flames spews from the evidence laboratory. Through the windows, all I can see is fire. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ I glance around for a fire extinguisher, anything, but the smoke is just getting thicker, and I know I need to get out of here.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

I make it to the ground floor where a fire unit is preparing to enter.

"There's a fire on the third floor, wing 4, in the lab. You have to hurry!" My voice is frantic; the number of cases that could be compromised if that evidence disappears… The firefighters must notice my ashy hair and take me at my word, setting off.

"Agent Simonson, are you alright?" Skinner's voice sounds behind me, rather harsh for the question. I wipe my forehead, the back of my hand coming off with soot.

"I – I'm fine. I heard the alarm – I figured it was just a drill. But I wanted to be sure that my soil samples were safe, and I saw the fire." I shake my head. "A lot of evidence is going to be destroyed." To my embarrassment, my voice catches a little, so I chance the subject. "Agent Skinner, I think someone was going through my desk this evening." His face hardens into a scowl. "I had called for a forensics team to dust it, but with this emergency…I doubt anyone will make it up there soon."

"Did you have any evidence related to this case with Mulder and Scully in your desk?" I nod.

"Yes, but I didn't have the chance to check if it was still there. When I realized someone had gone through my stuff…I wanted to make sure that I didn't destroy any evidence of the tampering." I don't dare add that I was worried the intruder was still in the office. He doesn't respond, and I stand on my tip-toes to better scan the crowd of agents in the lobby.

"Do you know if Mulder and Scully are here? I need to talk to them about the technology the military is testing."

"I believe they went to arrest the Major General with murder. They got one of the sick men to testify that he and the Lieutenant General argued about the tests and that the Lieutenant requested FBI assistance with the pollution in an effort to expose what the military was doing." I suck in a breath, processing that. That should bring this all to a stop – maybe we can even recover the technology as evidence of the Major General's desperation to keep the tests a secret. Skinner breaks the silence that resulted from my train of thought.

"Simonson, walk with me a moment." He walks stiffly away from the crowd and towards an alcove near the deserted elevator bay. "You said you had evidence in the lab that is on fire?" I nod. "And you think someone went through your files this evening?" I nod once more. He glances from side to side. "Agent, if Mulder is right about certain…implications," he says the word with a bite of distaste, "of this case, then it is very possible that this is an effort to destroy evidence specifically related to your case." I swallow hard. "Did you keep any copies, any duplicates of the case file?" Sadly, I shake my head.

"All I know that is secure is the print out of the first soil sample test results I showed the Department of Energy scientist. And I only know that because it's still in my briefcase."

"You have more than one soil sample in the lab?" he asks, confused.

"Yeah, I had samples shipped in from the other bases where the similar cases of illness are occurring." Skinner presses his lips together with anger. "I'm sorry if I did something wrong, I just figured that would be the easiest way," I stop my flow of words as he holds up a hand.

"You didn't do anything wrong. It's just that our building is on fire because some dipshits in our government didn't like what you and Mulder and Scully got close to discovering something." I'm surprised by the passion in his voice. His face is tight with rage; I wish I could do something to comfort him. I fight to keep myself from attempting to comfort him with touch. I really want to run my hands over that toned chest his dress shirts can't conceal.

"It's not that I don't believe you; it's just that I don't completely follow. You think it is alien technology on the bases that's causing this pollution?" His dark brown eyes meet mine, made all the darker with rage.

"Don't you?" he accuses. I can't look away from his eyes even though the intensity in them threatens to consume me.

"I'm…not positive. I think it's possible. Whatever it is, I know they want to keep it a secret." He nods, some tension fading from his shoulders. Somehow my response seems to have calmed him.

"You should go home, Agent. It's late." I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop me. "I'll make sure that a forensic team gets up to your desk after this is all over." I don't want to look weak, like I don't have stamina, but also I can't see a point in staying here.

"Alright. Thank you." He nods once, sharply. I head out of the building, hailing a cab.

From the shadows between the pillars, a man leaps out, tackling me to the ground, pining me down. My briefcase, with what is probably the last of the evidence of the soil contamination, goes scattering down the steps. My attacker's gloved hand covers my mouth, but I scream all the same and fling my elbows and head back with all my might. With a satisfying crack, the back of my skull connects with my assailant's face. His grip on my mouth falters for a moment, and I am able to scream at the top of my lungs for a few seconds before his forearm crosses over my windpipe, cutting off all sound, air, and blood flow.

All I can do is hope that someone inside heard me as my vision fades to black. A loud crack echoes through the night, and suddenly I can breathe again. Agents are streaming out of the building, a herd of them chasing after my assailant. My vision slowly returns as I pick myself up from the cement.

"Agent, are you okay?" A security guard I vaguely recognize kneels down next to me. I nod, not trusting myself to speak. His weapon is still drawn. Skinner skips a few steps down, fetching my briefcase. I breathe a sigh of relief at seeing it in his hands.

"Gruski, you'll need to have your weapon run for ballistics," Skinner says.

"I know, Sir." The loud noise I heard must have been a gunshot, which must have been what scared away my attacker.

"Thank you," I tell the guard. "You saved my life."

"It's what I'm here for, miss," he says while helping me to my feet. "I'll start filling out the paperwork, A.D. Skinner. Sure is a busy night." He walks back in the building.

"Do you think the agents will be able to chase that man down?" Skinner shakes his head with a scowl.

"Doubtful. We're lucky he didn't have an accomplice waiting here with him, or this would be gone," he says, hefting the briefcase to make his point. I nod, massaging my throat with my hand.

"You'll probably have to wait a little longer to go home, after all. The DC police will want to take your statement and take pictures of your injuries." I look down at my skinned hands. "When you're done, I'll have one of the cops take you home." We head back inside, and I plop into one of the couches, my briefcase firmly clasped in my lap.

I watch in a daze as fire fighters stream through the lobby. Skinner excuses himself to go talk to them, and I realize he must be the highest ranking agent here. I don't see him again the rest of the night. He has a lot more important things to do than babysit me, after all, even on a night not marred by a fire in an evidence storage lab, an assault on an agent, and a potential break in to that same agent's desk and case files.

More than an hour later, I am finally able to head back to my apartment. I ride in a police cruiser with a DC cop. I can't wait to take a long shower and collapse into bed. Those plans all evaporate as soon as I unlock my door, finding the place completely destroyed.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," I mutter.

* * *

 **Happy Holidays, everyone! Hope you liked this chapter, and for those here for some Skinner/OC action, things are heating up very soon ;). Reviews are always appreciated!**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The cop stands next to me, dumbfounded.

"I take it there's been a break in here," he says. I nod slowly. God, will this night ever end? This is probably the last thing Skinner wants added to his plate, but I don't know who else to call. I fish his card out of my wallet and dial his cell. He picks up after a few rings.

"Skinner," his voice is even more curt than I am used to.

"This is Agent Simonson. I just got back to my apartment, and it's been broken into. The place looks ransacked." I hear him sigh heavily.

"They must have been looking for any spare copies of the lab results. You shouldn't stay there tonight regardless of the fact that it's going to be declared a crime scene." He goes silent for a while – am I supposed to say something? But then he continues. "I'll be finished up here soon. You can meet me at 4135 Jefferson Davis Ave in about twenty minutes."

"Alright." The line clicks dead. Although accompanied by the cop, I still enter cautiously.

"Touch as little as you can," he tells me unnecessarily – I'm an FBI agent after all. I hastily pack a duffle bag of clothes and get out of the apartment. Skinner's implication that he's going to get me a place to stay was clear, and I know the general area of that part of city – that must be the address for a hotel he's going to put me up in.

But when my I have the police car drive me over there ten minutes later, it is clearly not a hotel. I look around the area – there are plenty of hotels nearby, maybe I misheard the address. He did speak it rather softly. But, as I'm hesitating outside, a cab comes by and Skinner steps out. I wave to the cop, who is waiting in the cruiser to make sure I get in safely, and I silently follow Skinner inside and into an elevator.

"Is this…your apartment building?" I finally find the voice to ask.

"Yeah, I'm sorry if that… You don't have to stay here, it's just a hotel wouldn't be any more secure than your apartment, and you still have that lab printout of the soil results on you. That makes you quite a target since they're clearly looking to destroy all evidence." I fight a shiver.

"This is more than fine," I say hurriedly. "I'm just surprised by the generosity of you letting me stay here."

"I've got to keep my agents safe, don't I?" The statement is said with some resentment, but I'm touched by it all the same. I follow him out of the elevator and into his apartment. It's furnished Spartanly with minimal decorating and dark colors. The place is rather spacious though, with a balcony and a great view of the city. "I don't have a spare bedroom, so I'll be taking the couch," he says gruffly, interrupting my appraisal of his apartment.

"No, please, you should sleep in your own bed. It's kind enough of you to let me stay here. I would feel too badly kicking you out of your bed."

"And I would feel too badly having a guest sleep on the couch." He's using his Assistant Director Voice, the one that is demanding and unforgiving, but I won't let that intimidate me. I change the subject, hoping to break the stalemate.

"Would I be able to use your shower? Between the fire and the ground, I feel absolutely filthy."

"Of course. Bathroom is through the bedroom, on the right." I head the direction he points, finding the bathroom without trouble. I peel off my day-old clothes and step into the steaming water, for the first time in hours, washed with relief and relaxation. Even the stinging of my cuts in the water has a bitter sweetness to it. There is something about being with A.D. Skinner that makes me feel…safe.

I didn't have the forethought to bring toiletries other than my toothbrush, so I resign to using his shampoo – lucky he still has some hair or I might have been out of luck in that regard. I can't help but examine the products in his shower: shave cream, unscented shampoo, a blue razor, musky-scented soap. In other words, no trace of a feminine touch. _Good,_ I can't help but think. I've noticed Skinner doesn't wear a wedding band, but the moment I walked through that door I've been dreading finding evidence of a live-in or serious girlfriend. I berate myself for thinking of such things at a time like this.

I get out of the shower as quickly as I can manage in my exhausted state; I don't want to impose on his space more than I already am. As I towel off my hair and step into my oversized t-shirt and sweats, I marvel at the trust Skinner has shown by allowing me into his apartment. Then again, he didn't have much of a choice if he wanted to keep the evidence safe. I hope he doesn't resent me for my inability to protect the evidence.

Once out of the bathroom, I find Skinner curled up on the bed, half-undressed. Well, if you count his shoes off and tie loosened half-undressed. And, considering his formality, it might as well be. I linger, unsure if I should wake him up, but my decision is made for me when he starts awake, hand reaching for his holster.

"Skinner, it's just me," I say quickly, and he relaxes. I raise my eyebrows at the instinct but make no comment. "Sorry to startle you. The bathroom is all yours." He rises to his feet, no evidence of the weariness he exposed just seconds ago.

I make my way back to the living room – I figure if I'm asleep on the couch by the time he gets out, he'll be forced to take the bed. Luckily, he already set up some sheets and blankets. Before I lay down, I unclasp my briefcase, double checking that the lab printout remains intact. I breathe a sigh of relief, close up my briefcase, and am asleep within seconds of lying down.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

I wake up in the morning to the smell of coffee brewing. God, it feels painfully early, but I can hear someone moving about near me. I freeze and my heartrate spikes before I remember where I am; that's just Skinner getting ready. I sit up and stretch.

"What time is it?"

"It's early – you should go back to sleep," he grumbles. I notice the sky is only just turning pink, but across the kitchen, Skinner is fully dressed in a suit.

"Where are you going?"

"I have some business to take care of." His voice is even more closed off than before. That was a vague answer, but I guess I should have known better than to ask. "I set an alarm to wake you at 7:30 for work. The door will lock behind you when you leave. The second you get into work, I want you to make a dozen copies of that lab report." I nod solemnly and lay back down as he heads out the door.

* * *

It was a mistake to have her stay here last night, but what other options did I have? Scully and Mulder were chasing down their suspect, her apartment was completely compromised, and I couldn't risk having her stay at a friends and putting them in danger. But what a complete breach of protocol, having a reporting agent spend the night…if word got out about that, combined with how I reassigned her, I don't think the rumors would ever subside. Not that there would be any substance to those rumors, but damn, part of me wishes there was.

I can't get the picture of her in my shower out of my head. Or the fantasy of tearing off her stupidly modest pajamas and fucking her like mad on my couch. I fight against the erection from such thoughts. There's a lot more important things on my to do list than fantasizing about the pretty agent sleeping in my apartment. Those sorts of thoughts will be postponed until _after_ office hours, when I'm alone in my apartment and can indulge such inappropriate fantasies. I'm her boss, god-damn it.

* * *

I wake up what feels like only a feel seconds later. I rise to my feet with a groan and turn off the kitchen timer. There's still some coffee left in the pot, so I chug it down and get myself to work. I have evidence to protect.

After making my obligatory stop at the copier, and carefully stowing the copies in various compartments of my briefcase and desk drawers and in my coat pockets, I head to the basement to ask Scully a favor.

"Simonson," Mulder exclaims when he sees me. The injuries I sustained after my encounter last night have darkened, giving me a splotch of a bruise against my throat. "Was that from the attack?" No doubt word about an attack on an agent – on FBI property – travels fast. I bring a hand to my injury, trying to cover up the worst of it.

"Yeah." Scully rises from her desk.

"Do you mind if I take a look at it?" I wave her off.

"I'm fine. Thank you, though. But I didn't come down here to talk about the attack on me. You both also heard about the fire, I presume?" They nod. "All of my soil samples from cross-country were there. And the forensic team that went over my desk didn't find any obvious signs of tampering, but I checked this morning, and the printouts of those tests are all gone."

"Damn it!" Mulder exclaims, slamming his hand on his desk. "That was real, scientific, undeniable proof that the military is hiding something, something impossible by current scientific knowledge. Now they're replacing the soil, and we won't have any evidence what was going on."

"They're replacing the soil?" I exclaim. Scully nods.

"Mulder and I went to the base this morning to see if we could get more information about the tests after making our arrest. The whole building was gutted, and the soil was obviously different from before – the ground all torn up." I shake my head. Even without the attack and evidence destruction, there is clearly something serious going on.

"At least the print out from the first test is still safe. Here's a copy," I say quietly. Scully quickly grabs it, stowing it safely away. "I heard you two arrested the Major General for the Lieutenant's murder?"

"Barely," Scully replies. "He nearly escaped on us – had to pull together a search party with road blocks and everything. But we got him, and he basically confessed. But we're going to need evidence that something was awry at the base to back up Eckleberg's testimony – these lab results are going to be critical, thank you." I nod.

"Just doing my job, right?" I tell them exactly what the DOE scientist told me about the elements that were in the soil, and how their concentrations were impossible with current technology. Mulder lights up at this, knowing this means that we got close to something. They each ask a few follow up questions, but then I have to excuse myself – I've got a meeting with upper levels of the FBI about the attack last night.

"Scully, can you walk me to the elevator?" I ask. She looks over at Mulder and then follows me out.

"Is everything okay, Simonson?" I hesitate at first, unsure how to explain what happened.

"My apartment was broken into last night. I'd rather not stay there tonight."

"You can crash at my place, no problem," she offers before I can ask.

"Thank you so much. I really appreciate it."

"Of course – what else are friends for?" That makes me smile, and with that issue settled, I am able to head into my debriefing with the FBI upper management with a much clearer head.

I get upstairs right on time for the meeting and head into Skinner's office. I try to keep my face free of any expression when our eyes meet for the first time since we met under less formal circumstances. I wish I wasn't seeing him in front of a crowd. I still haven't been able to properly thank him for his hospitality.

"Agent Simonson, thank you for joining us," Skinner greets me stiffly. I take a seat at the long conference table, surveying those assembled – only one other woman is in the room. From the corner of my eye, I can see the smoking man sitting on a couch on the far wall. I can't help but tense when I realize he's here.

"Agent, I'll be leading the investigation into this incident. Can you walk us through what happened last night?" a man I don't recognize asks.

"Of course." I wipe my hands on my skirt in an attempt to wipe the sweat off. "I was going to return home for evening when," I am interrupted by the same man.

"Can you start at what happened as soon as you arrived at the building in the evening? I understand that you also reported last night that your desk had been disturbed?" That man seems to be leading this meeting – at least he does not seem at all hostile.

"Oh, yes, of course. I returned to my desk to finish up some work, and I was going to call Scully, er, Agent Scully," I correct myself, "to conference with her about how her and Mulder's case was going – the one that pertained to the base I myself was looking into, when I noticed my phone was off the hook. I began to notice other things to indicate someone had been through my things – pictures askew, supplies out of place. I checked my desk drawers – the ones that lock, where I keep my files – and I found them to be in disarray. I was going to alert someone to the potential break in when the fire alarm went off."

"This morning I presume you checked through your files – was anything missing?"

"Yes, two printouts of some lab tests related to the same contamination case."

"And what transpired in between your evacuation and the attack?"

"Let's see. I told fire fighters that I had seen fire in the lab on the third floor, conversed briefly with Assistant Director Skinner about progress on my case, and left the building."

"Why were you on the third floor? Isn't your office on the fourth?" I nod.

"Yes, but I was concerned about some evidence I had in the lab on the third floor, and it turned out I was correct to be."

"That evidence did not survive the fire?"

"No, Sir, it did not."

"And now I'll have to ask for details about the attack. What happened?"

"I was walking towards the street to hail a cab, and a man leapt at me, tackling me to the ground. That's how I got these," I say, holding up my scratched palms. "I tried to fight him off, and I head-butted him in the face, which managed to break his hold over my mouth for long enough for me to scream. When he recovered a few seconds later, he put me in the sleeper hold. Luckily, my scream had been heard, and Gruski, the lobby guard, discharged his weapon. This made the man run away." Now that I've said everything, I sit back, a bit more relaxed.

"Did you recognize the man who attacked you?"

"I never saw his face." The man flips through some papers.

"Your apartment was part of a report regarding a break in last night. Can you tell us about that?"

"Well, when I arrived home, my apartment was in complete disarray. It was obvious that someone, or someones, had been through it looking for something – I don't know what. But I haven't heard too much about the investigation, sir. I just know the DC police have the incident recorded and went through the scene looking for evidence. From my brief survey of the place, it didn't look like anything had been taken."

"Agent Simonson, in your opinion, are these incidents related?"

"As in, the break in at my desk and missing evidence, the fire that destroyed evidence related to that same case, an assault against me, and a break in at my apartment? Yes, from here, at least, it looks like they are." There is a moment of tense silence. Then another man begins questioning me.

"Agent Simonson, you barely passed the hand-to-hand portion of your Quantico evaluation. In fact, your supervisors only passed you due to your superior skill with a handgun. Do you think that deficit in your skillset may have contributed to last night's attack?"

"Are you suggesting that my attacker had advance knowledge of my low combat score?" I ask appalled.

"I believe Agent Williams is suggesting you are to blame for the attack – an insinuation that will be given no credence in this room," Skinner interrupts, his voice taunt.

"All I'm suggesting is that maybe we wouldn't be here with an injured agent and an escaped perp if Agent Simonson didn't pee sitting down," Williams derides. My jaw falls open, and then I'm on my feet, speaking before thinking through the words.

"You want to go outside and see how little difference that makes when I kick your sorry, sexist ass?" I exclaim.

"Agent!" Skinner bellows at me. "Sit down!" I comply after a heart beat's hesitation. "I will not stand for this sort of behavior – from either of you." My face stays flushed with anger. The air is thick with tension.

"Was there anything else?" I pose the assembly of agents, trying to keep my voice steady.

"No, that is all. Thank you for your time, Agent. We will be in touch," the first man says. I rise, glad that is over.

"Agent Simonson, did you stay at your apartment last night?" the smoking man asks. I had almost forgotten he was here.

"Pardon me?" I ask, my tone an imitation of innocent confusion, but internally my mind is in a panic. I fight the urge to glance at Skinner.

"It seems like it would be jeopardy of your safety to stay in your apartment, as is. If you stayed at a hotel last night, the FBI will cover your costs." An innocent enough question, but coming from him, I know he's searching for information about my allies, friends, something.

"I stayed at a friend's, but thanks for checking." I make eye contact ever so briefly on the way out with Skinner. I hope I handled that all appropriately.

I'm waiting for the elevator when, to my surprise, I hear Skinner calling my name. I turn to see him striding over from his office.

"I'm sorry about Williams' behavior." I shrug and stomp my feet a little.

"It's not your fault – and I should be used to it by now. But a more vehement indictment of his behavior would have been nice."

"Sorry," he mutters to his feet. For some reason him apologizing to me makes me more uncomfortable than being the object of his rage. "Just a tip – for your safety and that of the agents around you – train up on hand-to-hand. There's instructors in the gym that can help you."

"Alright. Thank you." My elevator has arrived, but I wait to climb on – something deep inside me yearns to stay near Skinner. "I still don't feel like I've had the chance to properly thank you for," I let my voice trail off.

"Don't mention it. Why don't you head home early today, rest up, get your place cleaned up, have the locks changed."

"Alright, thank you, Sir." He just nods. Empty of excuses to keep him, I head down to my office.

 **AN: Get excited for the next chapter! ;)**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

I leave work early that day to attempt to put my apartment back together and install an alarm and arrange for the locks to be changed. As night falls, I pack up another night's worth of clothes and head to Scully's. When I arrive, I'm a little surprised by how nice it is, but I'm glad she's doing well for herself.

"How did your debriefing this morning go?" she asks while helping me set up the couch. I sigh.

"Could have gone better, I guess." She sits down, half-cased pillow in her lap, looking concerned. "It wasn't anything too major," I assure her, "but one of the agents was this sexist asshole, Agent Williams, who announced to the room that I wasn't able to fight off and capture my attacker because I'm a woman." She gives me a grimace of sympathy.

"I've had the misfortune of running into him a few times. I'm sorry you had to deal with him after everything else."

"It doesn't help that I took his bait – probably came off as an emotional, irrational woman," I say, shaking my head.

"I'm sure no one thought that. Everyone understood how much you had gone through."

"Thank you, Scully." She is such a warm person despite her logical professionalism. "And thank you for letting me stay here – I still don't feel totally safe in my place, but the locks are being changed tomorrow, and I'm going to start looking for a place to move. I want to be in a more secure building." She nods in understanding.

"I'm glad I am able to help." We return to setting up my temporary bed. As I'm tucking the blanket in between the bottom cushion and the couch arm, Scully freezes. "You didn't stay at your apartment last night, did you?" she asks, appalled.

"Oh, no, I stayed with-" I hesitate, unsure if I should disclose this, but my hesitation has been exposed, and she's currently inquiring with a raised eyebrow. I can trust Scully not to make assumptions, and she's not a gossip. "I stayed with Skinner, actually." Now the second eyebrow joins the first.

"You're kidding. You spent the night at Assistant Director Skinner's?" her voice is incredulous.

"Yeah," I say with a shrug that I attempt to give an air of nonchalance. "I still had the last evidence of the abnormal soil sample, and he wanted to make sure that stayed safe."

"Oh, was that all?" she asks with just a hint of insinuation.

"It wasn't like that, Scully." I chide with a smile. "I slept on the couch, and we were both too exhausted to even think of anything but sleeping." Well, at least he was. She makes a face, clearly not totally convinced. "But I would prefer if that little tidbit of information didn't become common knowledge. Skinner did be a big favor letting me crash at his place on such short notice, and I wouldn't want to repay him with base rumors."

"It'll stay just between the two of us," she assures me. I breathe an internal sigh of relief – I don't trust Mulder with something of this nature.

* * *

When I finally make it back to my place for the night, it feels empty. For a few seconds, I can't understand the sensation, but I walk a few more feet in and catch _her_ scent. Damn it. Who knew one woman could be so…intoxicating. I should have offered to have her stay here tonight too, but it didn't seem even remotely appropriate until now, and this is probably just the…desperation, I admit to myself, talking. I tug off my tie and head to my bedroom, resigned to deal with the sheets that she slept in the night before – the source of her scent, no doubt – in the morning. Or, I could…

In somewhat of a daze, I head to the couch, sitting down next to the pile of blankets she folded. I sigh and undo my pants until I can access myself. I sit back and breathe deeply. This never compares to actually being with a woman, but when months pass when I am too busy to even consider dating, it helps take the edge off. And having the smell of a woman – and such a fantastic one at that – in the air does help enhance it. I really, really shouldn't be thinking of her like this, but goddamnit I need to give myself _some_ leeway. And what's the harm in a little bit of fantasizing?

* * *

As the weeks pass, my injuries fade, and I slowly get my life back to its typical organized state. I manage to clear a few cases that have no hints of extraterrestrial lifeforms or threats to any agent's well-being. All in all, I would consider my time now at the FBI a success, a change that I know I owe entirely to A.D. Skinner. Unfortunately, I have no opportunity to express such gratitude to him, as our contact has become practically non-existent. Which, I am forced to remind myself, is a good thing as it means I am not in hot water _or_ in danger. Most people dread being called into the AD's office, but every time I hear my manager announce that Skinner needs to meet about a case, my heart flutters, hoping I'll turn around and find him talking to me. He never is.

Twice a week, I also make time for personal training sessions with the coach in the gym. Slowly, I am improving as the different techniques and moves are drilled into my muscle memory. I've finished up one of those sessions when I see Skinner leaving the men's locker room. I glance around and find the gym empty and, before I can fully think through the wisdom of doing so, I'm approaching him.

"Skinner," I call. He turns at the sound of my voice, and makes a somewhat peculiar expression before his face falls back into its stony blank slate. This is one of the few times I've seen him without his glasses, and I can't help but notice how much more intense his eyes seem without them.

"Simonson. I see you're keeping up with your training." I nod.

"Trying to, Sir." There's a moment of awkward silence where I berate myself for coming over. "I wanted to say, well, wanted to thank you for, well, everything." I stammer. "I really like being in environmental crimes. Things have been relatively calm," I say for lack of a better word, "and productive lately. And I really owe you for my placement." He holds up a hand, cutting off the rest of my stumbling gratitude.

"I'm glad I was able to help – really. But you don't have to thank me. What I did was not solely altruistic. After all, you're an asset to the Bureau, and it would be a shame to lose you."

"Thank you all the same, sir," I say with sincerity. There's another pause where I should walk away but am unwilling to depart so soon.

"How is your training going? Your safety in the field is vitally important."

"I think it's been going well – I certainly think I've improved." There is a moment of silence where it looks like he is considering something.

"Would you mind if I assess that? If you have made significant improvement, I can put a note in your file…which might prevent pig-headed men like Williams from making derisive comments to an assault victim."

"That sounds wonderful," I say with a grin. Improving my official hand-to-hand score _and_ having Skinner do the assessing, that is. I make myself stop picturing the two of us rolling around on the floor and keep my head on straight. We walk to the mats silently and put on the required protective wrist guards. I try not to get too nervous.

"You're sure about this?" he asks me. He does stand over half a foot taller than me, and is considerably more muscled. But I nod.

"After all, if I don't do better, you won't put it in my file, right?"

"Right," he says with a slight smile. And then his face hardens, and he grabs my forearm, twisting me around and forcing me down to my knees. That was surprisingly effective. He stands behind me and over me, his other hand putting pressure on my shoulder to keep me down.

"Can you get out of this hold, or do you want to tap out?"

"I don't tap out," I grimace as I yank myself forward – his second hand is gone, but he still has a strong grip on my arm – hop to my feet and turn, springing up and using my free hand to smack his temple and one of my legs to kick at his shins. He drops my arm, and I jump a foot away and bring both my hands up in a fighting stance. He mirrors my stance and throws a few – surprisingly strong given we're just training – punches that I block with my forearms. Then he shoves me down on the mats. I land hard but roll out of attack range the moment I get my bearings. I know there's no way that I can get him off of me if he pins me to the ground.

I climb to my feet, but I'm disoriented from the rolling, and he grabs me in a bear hug from behind. My arms are pinned to my sides. I freeze for a moment, feeling his strong body pressed against me and his arms wrapped around me. _Fuck._

"This is a basic move, Simonson, you should know how to get out of this," he growls in my ear, bringing me back from my foolish fantasies to reality. I move my hands up to grab his interlocking hands and twist his fingers apart and buck my hips back, flying out of his grasp. I decide to go on the offensive this time and throw a few punches into his solid chest and up at his face to disorient him. But he easily fights off my attack and rams me with his body, falling on top of me. I manage to keep my arms free, but I'm now pinned underneath him. _FUCK._ I struggle to keep my thoughts situation-appropriate.

He adjusts his position to one of even greater advantage, inserting his body between my legs, thus pressing his pelvis to mine, and plants his hands on the mat, right above my shoulders. This is what I didn't want to happen since now he's got his weight and gravity on his side. But I'm not going to resign to being a helpless woman agent. I wrap my legs around his hips to force him backwards or lift him off me, but he resists me easily, staying stuck in place. He wraps one hand around my neck – only tightly enough to threaten to cut off blood flow – and encourages me.

"What should you do now?"

"Meet an untimely end, apparently," I say with gritted teeth.

"I thought you don't tap out?" he says with a hint of amusement.

"I also can't deny physics. You're heavier than me, bigger than me, and now you've got gravity on your side." He also still hasn't released his grip on my neck, and I'm starting to feel some effects from the slightly restricted oxygen flow.

"That's not everything. Or, at least, it doesn't mean you're doomed. I can't believe they're not teaching this move at the academy. There's a pretty easy way to get out of this." He takes the hand that isn't around my neck and taps my left hip. My breath catches, and my pulse picks up, which I pray he doesn't notice despite one of his large hands still firmly gripping my neck. "Plant this foot on the ground and lift up your other foot. Push down, lifting up your left shoulder, and slide."

"What?" I ask, confused by the series of steps.

"Here," he says as his free hand moves down my leg to grab the back of my knee – is this man made of stone? – moving my leg away from his body so my foot touches the floor, my leg now forming a triangle with the floor. Or maybe he's just not attracted to me. Focus, I chide myself.

"Now let your other leg drop," I do as he says, too distracted to question anything, "and push back with your planted foot, lifting your left shoulder and sliding your right." With some hesitation, I move my body, surprised that I'm able to get some distance from him. "Move your foot that is off the floor, wedge it on my hips, and bring your other foot to do the same. Now push me away." To my surprise, when I shove my legs out, he goes flying backwards. I jump to my feet, unable to prevent a smile.

"Good, but now show me you remember how to do it." He comes at me again, and I'm able to resist and break through some of the holds he uses, but he manages to get me to the ground again. I have to think through the steps, but he goes easy on me while I do, and I get out from under him again. "Good," he assures me. While he's down, I run to kick him, but he gets up in time to stop me.

He grabs my fists, enveloping them in his hands, and then uses my momentum to swing me away and back. I go flying against the mats on the wall, but before I can move more than a foot forward, he's got me pinned again, his forearm on my neck, his body pressing mine back. I'm glad to see that he is sweating and his face is gritted – he performed these moves so seamlessly, I thought it was effortless for him.

I shove against his shoulders, trying to force him back. But it's like trying to move a brick wall. I move my eyes from his shoulders to his eyes, finding them stormy and heated. I falter in my attempts to push him away, but my breathing comes heavier. I drop my gaze from his, unable to withstand the intensity and proximity of it. Suddenly my hands on his chest seem a lot more significant than they did before, and I register the heat coming from his body as it presses against mine. As I struggle fruitlessly to push him away, I realize I can feel his breath on the side of my face. God, this is an exercise in self-control more than anything else.

I stomp on his foot to get him to move back, but no luck. I raise my leg to kick in him the shin, but he wedges himself between my legs to stop the maneuver, and his bare skin brushes my inner thigh. A soft moan escapes my lips, much to my horror. Beneath my hands, his whole body stiffens. I turn my face away, feeling a hot blush. God, how embarrassing. I should have known better than to think I could conceal my reaction to him.

But still, Skinner doesn't move, and although I've stopped exerting any pressure to push him away, his breathing seems more shallow. I risk a glance at his face, surprised to find it flushed and looking consumed with desire.

* * *

God, what the hell was I thinking? I should have known this would be a bad idea, her so informally attired with those shorts showing off her impossibly long legs. And yet, I couldn't deny the opportunity to touch her. And I should have known this would happen, that I would lose control of my façade and reveal my desires for her. But can it really be, she wants me too? I shouldn't, god, I really shouldn't, but my hands leave her shoulders to trace her curves down to her waist, all the fight gone from my touch. She gasps slightly, and it's the sexiest sound I've ever heard. No, second sexiest –first place goes to that first little moan that cued me into her desires.

She tilts her head back and parts her lips ever so subtly, holding my gaze for the first time since our training. But I hope she knows that she can leave, that just because I'm her boss, and I pinned her to the wall doesn't mean I expect her to… I realize what I've done and avert my gaze and back away, but she whimpers slightly and her hands clutch at my t-shirt. There's no denying that look of desire in her blue eyes, and I can't deny myself the chance to kiss this magnificent woman, no matter how improper it is.

I feel dazed as I lean down to meet those flushed lips. She rises up to meet me, and I feel her melt beneath my hands when our lips meet. She makes another soft moan, and my hands tighten on her waist, pulling her off the wall and closer to me. Her body is so well-defined, soft and also toned in all the right places. Her hands run across my chest and down to my hips, and she presses against me.

Behind us, there is a commotion as agents enter the training room. I jump away from her as fast as possible. I glance over at the source of the noise, terrified, and check to see if anyone is taking notice of Laila and I, but the agents entering from the basketball court pay no mind to the training room. With the interruption, reality comes flooding back. That shouldn't have happened; I need to get out of here. Without a backward glance, I hurry into the locker room.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Fuck, so that was not great. I mean, the kissing, that was phenomenal. His reaction afterwards…not as phenomenal. God, why do I have to get myself riled up for the men I can't have? My boss, no less. I scurry into the women's locker room before Skinner comes out of the men's. Probably the most awkward thing that could happen right now is having to look in his eyes.

I shake my head, scolding myself in my head as I get dressed. _He's your boss, damn it. He has been so nice to you, and now you've gone and scared him away. And maybe even put both your jobs in jeopardy. He's going to feel so awkward around you he'll probably never do you a favor again. Maybe he'll even transfer you to another department so you're not under his jurisdiction._

I sigh and lean my head against the cold metal of the locker. I'll just have to avoid him from now on so I don't make him feel uncomfortable. I do my best to focus on work the rest of the day, but flashes from the morning keep interrupting my concentration. Should I talk to Skinner? Apologize for what I did? Well – he started it? I can't quite remember as my mind was so clouded with desire. I could excuse it somehow – but how? In the end, I just resolve to avoid him until, hopefully, he forgets what happened.

That resolve evaporates, however, the next morning. Due to whatever evil fates are controlling my life, I end up in the same elevator as him. Instantly my face turns red hot, but I can't help but sneak a glance at him, and I have to stifle a gasp. He's got a bruise on his face, right on his jaw. Did I do that? I can't not know – I have to apologize.

So, instead of getting off on my floor, I will ride up to the top…hopefully getting to be alone with Skinner for at least a few seconds. I know he has realized my intention when I see his shoulders stiffen when I don't get off on the environmental crimes floor. Two floors from his, the elevator empties. I turn to him, but he's faster.

"I assume you wanted to talk about something?" Right – _something._

"I – yes. That wasn't me, was it?" I ask, voice small, pointing to the corner of my mouth, where the bruise is on him, to indicate what I mean. He sighs heavily.

"No, that wasn't you." His voice is gruff. "That was Agent Mulder, actually." I step back a bit, surprised, but the doors open at his floor, and I wouldn't dare keep him. He walks off.

"I'm sorry all the same," I end up saying in a rush. From the corner of my eye I see him turn around, but I don't meet his gaze and press the button for my floor. Instead of being preoccupied by our brief conversation, I'm wondering – why would Mulder punch Skinner?

By lunch time, curiosity is eating me alive. I trust Skinner – practically with my life – but Mulder attacking him…maybe he found out something incriminating about Skinner. When I take my lunch, I head down to the basement. It's been a few weeks since I've talked with the x-files duo, so I have no idea what they're working on.

I knock on the door to announce myself and then let myself in, and to my surprise Scully greets me with an instinctive reach for her holster, but she recognizes me and then relaxes.

"Laila, what brings you down here?"

"Well," I'm not sure how to broach the topic. Finally I go with, "I saw AD Skinner this morning. He had a massive bruise on his face and said that Mulder gave it to him. Is that true – and if so, why?"

"Yeah – it's true. But as for the why, I have no idea. And last I spoke to Mulder, he didn't know either." My eyebrows shoot up.

"How could he not know?" She shrugs and shakes her head.

"I thought it best he stayed home today, given everything. This afternoon I have a meeting with AD Skinner and upper management about the incident. I don't even know what I'm going to tell them." I know firsthand how dangerous sticking your nose in the wrong place can be, and I'm curious if that's what's going on here.

"Could it be stress?" I ask while sitting in Mulder's chair.

"I suppose it could be," she says with her Analytical-Scully voice. "He has been particularly temperamental, and he said he hasn't been sleeping well. And he's certainly under a lot of stress."

"Case related?" I ask in my most caviler tone. She smiles knowingly.

"If you're curious what we're working on, you can just ask. But yes, he is under stress because of what we're working on. I don't know if I can really call it a case but," she pulls something out of her desk and passes it to me.

"This is just a cassette tape." She nods.

"But that tape was given to Mulder by a man who claimed to have copied Defense Department files on to it."

"You're kidding. What does it say?"

"Well, we don't actually know yet – the files have been translated to Navajo."

"That's…intriguing."

"I'm trying to get in contact with someone who can translate it, but-" she suddenly cuts herself off. Does she think she can't trust me? "Laila, whatever is going on, it's dangerous. The less you know, the safer you'll be."

"I don't care about that – I want the truth. And I want to do what I can to help uncover it. You and Mulder don't have to be the only ones to put yourself in danger for the truth, you know." She considers for a while.

"I could use an extra set of hands on this, especially with Mulder effectively out of commission. I have to head up to a meeting with AD Skinner and some other officials, but I'll call you tonight about what we can do next."

"Okay, keep me posted." She and I ride the elevator up while she quietly briefs me about the details of the hallway fight she heard second hand. I realize how easy Skinner was going on me during our training session if he was able to subdue Mulder in a matter of seconds. For some reason, the thought of his strength and power makes my stomach flutter. I spend the rest of the workday agonizing to keep my thoughts work-appropriate.

I know Scully has my number, home and cell, but it's late when I finally get her call – her voice is shaking.

"Simonson, I'm at Mulder's apartment, and someone just shot through his window. Can you get over here? I think I might need stiches."

"I'll be right there. What's his address?" By the time I get a cab and get over there, she answers the door perfectly calmly, and she's already got whatever injury the shooting gave her bandaged.

"I'm glad you're okay," I say while peering at her wound as much as I can. "Where's Mulder?" She shakes her head and sighs.

"I don't know. He wasn't answering his phone, so I came here looking for him. No luck." I nod sympathetically. I wish that Mulder could see the consequences of his recklessness on his partner. I'm beginning to suspect Scully cares for him more than just professionally. Just then her cellphone rings, and its immediately clear who called: Mulder. And there's been a death – his own father. I only hear half the conversation, but this is clearly a very serious matter. Scully manages to persuade Mulder to leave the scene – advice I'm not sure I agree with, but I will trust her judgement – and to come to her apartment.

We exchange a glance.

"I'm going to need to take care of Mulder. Can you go up there and bring the slug back down? I need you to make sure that they follow all protocol appropriately."

"Of course. Give Mulder my condolences, if he's in a state to receive them." She gives me the address and directions, and we both set out.

I pull up to the house just as the sun is rising. No activity on the scene right now, but there is lots of crime scene tape. I have the operator connect me to the local police department to get directions and head over there. The place is pretty quiet, and it isn't until I flash my credentials and threaten to take over this case to the officer at the front desk that the police are willing to speak to me.

"Agent Simonson, you can head to the back. You're going to speak with Detective Waters." I go from the visitors' area to the pen where all the detective desks are. I find my detective and explain that this case is relevant to an ongoing investigation, and he briefs me on the evidence so far.

"It appears that the murder took place in the bathroom, as that is where the blood splatter is, but, and this is just preliminary, it looks like someone entered and exited from the bathroom window, and they left a smear of blood as they left. It's the victim's, but it suggests that whoever did this was not let in through the front. Unusually, however, the body was moved from the bathroom to the couch, so clearly there was someone else there at the time, and likely someone who cared about the man." Dammit, Mulder, why'd you have to move the body. "But our forensics team is still going over the scene. Was there something in particular you came all this way for, Agent?"

"Yes, actually. I very much need to get the slug down to DC for analysis. When will your lab be done with it?"

"Not until late this afternoon, unfortunately. Our technician isn't in yet, and he has to process the cases as they come in." I digest this very unhappily.

"Alright. I hope you don't mind if I stick around until then."

"Be my guest." At my request, he shows me where the lab is, and I pull up a chair next to the door. When that technician comes in, I'm going to make sure they do what they're supposed to. I call Scully, leaving a message on her machine as an update, and then I doze lightly off and on.

At 8:30 AM, I wake to my cellphone ringing. I clear my throat to keep get rid of sleep in my voice before I answer.

"Hello?"

"Why the hell did I get a call from the Martha's Vineyard PD confirming your badge number and your assignment to look into a death that occurred last night? Do you care to tell me what the hell you're doing up there?" Skinner yells through the phone.

"The man who died was Mulder's father. And he didn't just die – he was shot in the head." That makes him go silent. "I'm up here making sure no one tampers with the evidence. And to bring the slug back to DC myself."

"Why on earth is that necessary? Do I need to remind you that you're not paid to babysit evidence anymore?" That stings more than I expected it to.

"It's necessary because that bullet is the only thing that might exonerate Mulder. I'm here to make sure it doesn't get exchanged with a more incriminating one."

"In the future I would like a head's up about these sorts of things," he says tersely and then hangs up the phone. Considering that the tirade stopped, I am taking that as approval.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

When the technician arrives, he questions my presence but doesn't object. Contrary to protocol, he deals with evidence from last night first. He claims he does it as a curtesy to me, but I think he just wants me out of his lab and no longer breathing down his neck.

All the same, it takes a few hours for the machine to run and log all the striations. At around 11, Scully calls to check in. From what she said, it sounds like Mulder is pretty pissed at her for daring to suspect him and taking his gun to run for ballistics. Also, she found something peculiar with his water system, and she's running a water sample through the lab now. She suspects someone might have been drugging him through the water, and I feel my skin prickle. Who wants to hurt Mulder so badly they'd put an entire apartment complex at risk? I tell her I should be back in DC by 9 PM, and I'll have the bullet compared right away.

Finally, after signing lots of paperwork and presenting three forms of ID, I am able to check the bullet out to bring to DC. I promise to mail it back to them within the week, and I head to my car and back to DC.

As I make my way through headquarters to the lab, I notice a strange energy in the air, but I don't stop to ask anyone what the excitement is about until I get into the lab with my precious cargo. I hold my breath as the forensics expert examines the two under a microscope. After what feels like an eternity, he makes his pronouncement.

"They're not a match." I release the breath I didn't know I was holding.

"You're a godsend. When you get the chance, pack that bullet up and send it to this address," I say, handing him the Martha's Vineyard police department address.

"Sure thing. Hey, Simonson," he calls as I'm already halfway out the door, "I take it you're working on a case with Scully since she was the one who had me test the first bullet."

"Yeah, something like that. Why?"

"Well, have you heard?" My heart freezes.

"Heard what?" Is she…dead? God forbid.

"There was a shot heard outside of Mulder's apartment building tonight, and Mulder and Scully are nowhere to be found." I collapse into the nearest chair before my legs give out entirely. I fear the worst – were they abducted? Murdered and their bodies ditched?

"Simonson, are you okay?" The technician's voice sounds very far away. "I'll get you some water," he offers and hurries out of the room. The thing that deepens my dread is the certainty that if Scully and Mulder were alright, she would have called me. Asked about the bullet, told me what she and Mulder were going to investigate, told me how Mulder was doing.

"There you are. Simonson, your presence is requested immediately," Skinner's harsh voice orders, and I snap back to the present.

"Where, sir?"

"There are some people who suspect you might know where Agents Mulder and Scully are. Come with me." My vision seems tinged with gray, but I stand and follow Skinner as he leads me to his office.

Inside, there is an assembly of agents I've never seen before. Skinner takes the seat at the head of the table, and I take the one at the other end as all other seats are occupied. Every set of eyes turns to me, but no one speaks. I wait for someone to ask me what I know. Finally, someone does.

"Agent Simonson, you have been in close communication with Agents Scully and Mulder, is that correct?" I shrug.

"I suppose. We talked – I wouldn't say close communication though."

"Isn't it true that you went up to Martha's Vineyard at Agent Scully's request?" How could they possibly know that? I swallow hard.

"She and I discussed it, yes, but I went due to my own concerns."

"That Agent Mulder killed his father?"

"No, that proper evidence protocol would not be followed," I shoot back. "And, just so everyone is on the same page, I just got proof that the bullet that killed Mr. Mulder did not come from Agent Mulder's weapon." The man questioning me continues as if I hadn't even spoken.

"Agent, did you consult with Agents Mulder and Scully about the case they were working?" I freeze for a moment, unsure what to answer.

"We tried not to talk about work too much when we met up. It's good to have a life outside of work," I add as explanation.

"So you don't know anything about the case they were working?"

"I know that someone shot through Agent Mulder's apartment window, I know that Scully suspected that someone was tampering with the water quality in Mulder's apartment building. But I don't know the specifics of what they were working on, no." I'm not sure if they would want me revealing even this, but it feels good to put these incidents on the official record.

"Did you ever see Agent Mulder or Scully in possession of a digital tape?"

"No," I say with as much conviction as I can, adding in a hint of curiosity. "Are they being accused of pirating music?" I say with a small smile.

"This is a very serious matter, Agent Simonson. I would suggest you save your comedy routine for after work hours." I raise my eyebrows at the rebuke. "This, in fact, is a matter of national security. So I will ask you again – did you ever see either agent in possession of a digital tape?"

"My answer isn't going to change, sir, since what I told you before was the truth; no, I never saw either of them with a digital tape." I impress myself with how confidently I speak, but from the corner of my eye, I see Skinner shift uncomfortably in his chair. Does he know I'm lying? I put that to the back of my mind for now.

"Very well. Do you know where Agent Mulder and Agent Scully are?"

"No," I say with some resentment. "And it feels like there should be greater concern over two missing FBI agents than a cassette tape." I'm met with silence. Skinner clears his throat.

"Agent, that will be all. But you should know that if it is discovered that you have withheld any information today, there will be disciplinary hearing held that will likely result in your dismissal. With that in mind, is there anything you would like to add or correct?" I look unabashedly into his brown eyes, trying to read him.

"No, nothing." He nods once, and I head for the door and home. My mind is racing – where the hell are Mulder and Scully? What sort of trouble are they in? I'm convinced that if they were okay, Scully would have called me out of courtesy. I spend the rest of my evening in a daze of worry. I tried both of their cell phones, but no answer. Tomorrow, I'm going to request to open an investigation into their whereabouts.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The sky is still gray as the sun slowly works its way up over the horizon. I'm working at my desk, sifting through an agent's report on a fraud case he closed, trying to stay focused. What with the extra work this Mulder fiasco has caused, my workload has been even greater than usual. And unfortunately this increase corresponds to an increase in my distractibility. That damn Agent Simonson, with her piercing eyes and curvy hips, and lips so tempting they make a man willing to sacrifice his job. But I came here this early to have something to occupy my mind with other than her.

"Assistant Director Skinner," the ever-irksome "Cancer Man" says, barging into my office without knocking.

"Yes, what is it?"

"I understand there have been no leads as to Agent Mulder or Agent Scully's whereabouts nor that of the digital tape."

"That's correct." He scowls and lights a cigarette, much to my chagrin.

"And Agent Simonson was uncooperative?" My heart freezes and then beats double time. I hate that he knows her name, and I hate that he, probably correctly, suspects her involvement.

"She cooperated, she just didn't know anything," I state resolutely.

"What makes you so sure?" he says between puffs. I drop my gaze after a few seconds, unable to immediately supply an answer.

"She is a new agent. They tend to be obedient and succumb to authority. She wouldn't risk her career for Agent Mulder."

"My understanding is that she was willing to do so once before." That bastard – I knew he was behind that mess at the cave. My jaw clenches to keep my words in my throat.

"I don't think she can be of any help to you."

"I'd like to speak to her personally all the same." My teeth grind, but I don't see a way I can deny that request.

"I'll call her up as soon as she gets in."

"I'll be back at nine," he says before leaving as quickly as he came. I really wish she had the good sense to have stayed away from Mulder and the x-files after her first two run-ins with this dangerous work. Now it seems she's caught up in this conspiracy mess again.

* * *

Just as I sit down at my desk, my phone rings.

"Simonson," I answer.

"I need to see you in my office right away," Skinner's voice growls through the telephone. This doesn't sound good. Could that committee have figured out I lied already? I try to keep my breathing steady.

"Very well, I'll be right up." I should be nervous about whatever third-degree I'm going to get, but I think I'm more nervous about seeing Skinner. I still feel rather self-conscious around him. I just want to have an honest conversation with him about what happened.

* * *

True to her word, she walks into my office a few minutes later, as stunning as always. I can't help but sit up a little straighter, but I keep my reaction tempered – the last thing I need right now is Cancer Man sniffing around for that scandal.

The flick of her eyes around the room means she notes we are not alone – thank god she's as smart (paranoid?) and observant as she is or this could have been a disaster.

"Agent Simonson, have a seat. I wanted to ask you a few follow up questions about Agent Mulder." She sighs heavily.

"Feel free, but I think this is going to be a waste of everyone's time – I don't have the answers you're looking for." But she sits all the same. I wait for Cancer Man to step in, but he remains silent.

"Do you have any idea where Mulder or Scully are?" I ask.

"No, and I find that highly alarming. I actually wanted to discuss that with you, sir. I would like to request to be added to whatever investigation into their whereabouts is ongoing." I hold up a hand to stop her. Jesus Christ, she can't still be this naïve, can she?

"Request denied." I state firmly, hoping she won't argue.

"But, sir, I-"

"There are plenty of agents looking into the matter. One more won't help things, and you have other casework already assigned." She inhales to continue arguing. "That decision is final, agent." An edge unintentionally creeps into my voice, but it does succeed in cowing her. "Do you know where this tape might be?"

"No, as I've said before, I don't." I look at our onlooker who sits at the back of the room, since I am at a loss of what more to say.

"Where is the tape, Agent Simonson?" he steps in, approaching her, his voice as slimy as always.

"I don't know," she repeats, visibly getting more annoyed.

"Where is Agent Mulder?"

"I don't know that either." She's getting more exasperated. I hope that doesn't make her reckless.

"Where is my tape?" he shouts at her. I stiffen, unsure if I should intervene – ask him to leave.

"I. Don't. Know." Her voice is unwavering. I can't help but be a little impressed – if she's intimidated, she's certainly not showing it. "Look, you can ask me the same questions all day, but it's not going to give me information I don't have." She stands, moving her intense gaze from him to me. "Is that all? After all, I do have casework I've been assigned that I need to work on." I resist the urge to look at him for confirmation.

"Yes, you may go. Thank you for your time." She just waves without a backward glance. I wait for the door to shut before speaking to Cancer Man. I keep my voice emotionless. "Satisfied?"

"I suppose," he says, puffing smoke out of his nose like a dragon. It isn't until after he leaves that I'm able to breathe a sigh of relief. I'd love to know what's on that tape. And as much as I hate to acknowledge it, I need to get Simonson alone to talk about this. But the memory of the last time the two of us were alone is still much too fresh in my mind, and I suspect the same is true for her. Damnit, I should have known better, I berate myself, not for the first time.

By lunch time, curiosity overrules my insecurities, and I'm reaching for my phone before I can stop myself. I shouldn't have her extension memorized, but I do.

"Simonson," her voice echoes through me. "Hello?" I shake myself to clear my head and manage to find words.

"I need to see you," I say, wincing at the sexual undertones that seem all too apparent.

"Again?" she asks, her voice a hint of amusement and derision. I briefly smile at her boldness, but I keep my voice steely.

"Yes." I hang up.

A few minutes later she appears as requested, looking unperturbed. How she manages to look so comfortable is a mystery to me since all I can think about is the incident in the gym.

"I take it you wanted to ask me a few redundant questions? My answers aren't going to change just because I-" her voice catches and she hesitates for a moment before continuing, "trust you." I order my heart to stop fluttering.

"I also wanted to assuage some of your worries about Agents Mulder and Scully."

"Oh? Please do." I swallow, unsure how to phrase this.

"If that man – the one who is always smoking – doesn't know where they are, and he very clearly does not, considering the panic he's in, then in all likelihood, that means the two of them are off investigating something highly sensitive but currently are unharmed." I see her shoulders fall a fraction.

"Oh. I guess I hadn't thought of it like that. That's some good news, at least."

"And I think now you understand why you can't work on trying to find them; I'm not going to have you working with those lawless rats and against the truth." She nods rapidly.

"Thank you for taking the time to explain this to me." Her thanks make me uncomfortable – it's a reminder that I'm going beyond what is necessary and, in some cases, even appropriate.

"Agent, do they have the tape?" She looks into my eyes, and her indecision is clear. So her trust is not unequivocal. Then she steps closer to me, and my heart freezes; she's not going to touch me, is she? I both desire and dread that. But no, she grabs a pen and rips a sheet of paper off my notepad and begins writing. I doubt she knows this, but the tip of her tongue protrudes as she does. It's incredibly sexy. Then she passes me the paper, which refocuses my attention.

" _I saw Scully with a tape. But I honestly have no idea what was on it or where it is now."_ I nod a few times, understanding.

"Thank you – that is all." She nods and heads out, and I risk a furtive glance at her backside. There's no harm in looking, right?


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

I spend the next few days burying myself in my work and frantically trying not to worry about Mulder or Scully. From what they've told me, they've been in plenty of close calls before, but this seems more serious than anything they've dealt with before.

In the middle of the night, I wake up to my phone ringing. My missing friends are my first thought, and I immediately pick up the phone.

"Hello?" My voice is groggy with sleep.

"Simonson, it's Scully." I bolt upright.

"Scully! It's such a relief to hear from you. What's been going on? Where have you been – well, you don't have to tell me that, in fact, maybe you shouldn't. But are you okay? Is Mulder?"

"Agent Mulder is dead." Her hollow words echo in my head. For a second, I don't think I heard her right, she sounds so dispassionate. I stammer aimlessly for a few seconds before regaining my bearings.

"Scully, I'm so sorry. Where are you? Are you okay? I can get to you within a day, no matter where you are," I promise her. I have no idea how much she might be hurting right now.

"I'm on my way back to DC – I'm in the middle of Kansas right now. A military helicopter nearly ran me off the road right now. They took all our translated documents, and they're damn serious about getting that tape."

"Are you okay?" I ask for the third time as I try to process everything she just told me. She heaves a shuddering breath.

"I'm fine physically. I'll be back in DC by nightfall."

"Do you want me to meet you at your apartment? Or you can come here?" I don't think she should be alone, but I'm not sure she wants me to point that out right now.

"I'll let you know when I get in."

"Okay, thank you for calling me, Scully. If you need anything, _anything,_ call me."

"Okay." The line goes dead, and I lay back in bed, fully awake. Poor Scully. And poor Mulder. I'm sure in time I'll learn the details of the case, but what I care about now is avenging Mulder's death, punishing those responsible. A few tears leak from the corner of my eyes for his loss. Who will search for the truth now? It's a few hours before I am able to fall asleep again.

When I awake, I head to work, but I keep my cellphone on me at all times in case Scully calls. I consider updating Skinner that Scully called me, and telling him the horrible news, but until I can see Scully, I wait. The last thing I want is to give a false report on such a serious topic.

At 4:00 PM, my cell phone rings.

"Hello?" I answer somewhat breathlessly.

"Laila, I made it back to DC, and I'm safe. But can you come over?" It's Scully, and instead of the stoic emptiness of last night, her voice is breaking with emotion.

"Yes, I can be there in 15 minutes. I'm going to pick up food along the way – what do you want?" I'm already grabbing my coat and my briefcase. Yes, cutting out an hour early isn't great, but friends are more important.

"Some ice cream. And maybe something really fattening."

"Consider it done." I hang up, and as I'm leaving my desk, my office phone starts ringing. Whoever that is, they can go to voicemail.

I make it to Scully's faster than I could hope, ice cream, macaroni and cheese, buttery biscuits, and veggie stir fry (for something moderately health) in hand. When she opens the door, it's clear that she's been crying. I practically drop my food on the floor and wrap her in a hug. Her shoulders shake a little with silent sobs. I don't let go until she moves away, a few minutes later.

"I figured you hadn't eaten, so I brought an excessive amount of food."

"I see that," she says, half laughing, half crying. "Thank you – I should eat." I find a plate for each of us and give generous servings of the goodies. To my surprise, she immediately starts recounting the events of the past few days.

"The night we disappeared, I shot Mulder." My eyebrows shoot up, but I take a sip of water before trusting myself to speak. "He was beside himself, and he found the man he suspected of killing his father – a former partner of his named Kyrchek who turned out to be a double agent – lurking outside his apartment building. He wrestled Krychek's gun away and, if I hadn't stepped in, would have pulled the trigger. I knew Mulder could never regain his innocence, especially if Krychek had used that gun to kill Mulder's father. So, I had to shoot Mulder, and Krychek got away," she says with a sigh.

"It sounds like you did the right thing," I try to assure her. She continues. It's clear she has a lot to get off her chest.

"After that, I got him to my car and drove cross country, all the way to New Mexico. We met up with a Navajo man who helped translate parts of the tape. Before he could finish, some paramilitary force found Mulder, well, found where he was. The boy he was with, who brought Mulder to a train car filled with unhuman-like bodies, was beaten horribly as they tried to get him to reveal where Mulder was. The boy told me that Mulder was in the train car when they lit the thing on fire. There's no way Mulder could have survived – I examined the wreckage myself." My heart sinks like lead in water.

"That's when I tried to drive back to DC, bringing back as much evidence as I could, but that damn helicopter intercepted me," she says with a sob. I reach out and pat her hand. So that means she learned of Mulder's death not more than 48 hours ago. She must be even more devastated than she's letting on. "I'll need to go into the office tomorrow and give my report – as much as it's going to be disbelieved. I'll be lucky to get away with only a permanent citation on my record. I might even be dismissed." That makes me inhale sharply. God forbid.

"If there's anything I can do," I begin to offer, but she cuts me off.

"No, you've done enough, and I don't want you mixed up in this anymore than you have already been. The men who want this tape back mean business." I nod and inhale to speak, but then hesitate, unsure if I should burden her with more worries. "What is it?" she asks.

"I've been called into AD Skinner's office three times now in relation to this tape and your and Mulder's," my voice chokes on the name, "disappearance."

"Did you tell them anything?" she asks immediately.

"No, nothing." Then I stop. "Well, I might have told Skinner, when we were alone, that I did see you with _a_ tape," her whole body freezes, "but I trust him. He's-" I stop myself from admitting how much he's looked out for me. "He seems like he cares about his agents a lot. And I don't think he's beholden to those above him." She eyes me skeptically.

"I hope you're right."

"I mean, does the tape even still exist?" She looks at me silently, and I have the answer I need. "It wasn't in the car? Or with Mulder?" She shakes her head.

"No, it is-"

"I don't want to know," I cut her off. "That way if anyone asks me, I don't have to lie." She nods in understanding. "You should eat more," I encourage her. She takes a few more bites before declaring herself full.

"I'm going to shower. Do you mind," her voice catches a little, "staying?"

"Not at all. For however long you need," I assure her. I clean up the remnants of dinner and put the leftovers in the fridge. As I wait for her to get out, I turn my phone back on. I switched it off almost as soon as I arrived so I wouldn't be distracted, and I have a surprising number of missed calls. I'm not positive who was calling, but it's definitely an FBI number. It's way past business hours now, but I try to call back all the same. The phone picks up on the second ring.

"Skinner," he barks.

"This is Agent Simonson. You called me, sir?" He works seriously long hours.

"Simonson, where the hell have you been? Why have you been unavailable? I called you over an hour before five and you weren't at your desk. And I've been calling you since."

"I'm sorry, sir, I had to step out early for personal reasons." That quiets him for a few seconds. "I assume there is something urgent?"

"Yes," he grumbles. "I've received word you may have an update about the missing tape and Agents Mulder and Scully."

"Who did you receive that word from?" Is someone following me? Maybe tracking my calls? That's the only explanation.

"The important thing is that I did. Agent, do not withhold information from me." When his voice cracks over me like a whip, I am almost able to forget how soft and intimate the man can be.

"I am with Agent Scully now, sir. But..." my voice trails off. "She gave me some bad news." I try to keep my voice steady.

"Agent Mulder?" he asks.

"Appears to be dead," I say quickly, ripping the band-aid off. I hear him sigh heavily and the squeak of a chair that sounds like him leaning back.

"That is bad news." He takes it much more in stride than I did, however. "Does she know where the tape is?"

"I haven't really asked about it, given the circumstances. Nor do I particularly want to know, even if she does."

"She'll have to come in tomorrow for a debriefing."

"I believe she's aware of that, sir." He has no reply, but I don't dare to initiate the farewells after being AWOL today.

"You said you're with her now?" he asks in a softer voice, one with more emotion behind it than just being my superior officer.

"Yes."

"Stay there, if you can. As a friend." Funny how such a gruff man can sometimes reveal his softer interior.

"I will, sir." He hangs up practically before I can finish my sentence. I look down at my phone, somewhat perplexed by how suddenly his cold exterior is replaced.

"That was Skinner?" Scully asks, walking in, already dressed. I nod.

"I don't know how, but he knew you had contacted me. So at least one of us is being watched." She nods.

"Unsurprising. That's why I didn't call you until there wasn't anything left for them to find."

"You're expected at work tomorrow," I say, voice laden with sympathy. She shrugs.

"I figured as much."

"If my presence is an imposition, I will leave, but otherwise, if it's alright with you, I'd like to stay here in case you need a friend." _Or someone tries to get rid of you like they got rid of Mulder._

"Thank you," she says sincerely. "I could use a friend." We spend the next few hours splitting the pint of ice cream while Scully tells me tales of her first few cases with Mulder, how bizarre all his theories seemed. I let her reminisce in silent wonder of the rapport the two of the built over the time they worked together. I suspect this loss hasn't fully hit her yet. Exhausted, Scully heads to bed while I doze on the couch. I sleep fitfully, waking at the slightest noise outside or in the hallway, reaching for my pistol every time.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

I wait in the room outside of Skinner's office, waiting for Scully to leave the initial debriefing. My heart is racing – I hope they're going easy on her after everything she's been through. Finally, the door opens and Scully walks out, and I can tell from the look on her face it didn't go well. I give her a look of sympathy and wrap her in a hug.

"I'm suspended without pay – and had to surrender my badge and weapon." My heart sinks. That means she will be unable to help investigate Mulder's murder. And she'll be vulnerable to attack without her gun. Before I can get more details, Skinner comes barreling out of his office.

"Agent Scully," he calls. We turn to look at him, and for a split second, he can't conceal the hunger in his eyes when he glances at me. My heart flutters like mad, and I restrain myself from checking out his impressive build. Scully stalks over to him.

"Who are these people?" she demands. Then Skinner puts his hand on Scully's arm, guiding her away from his slightly opened door, and for some reason the sight of his hands on another woman makes me feel like I've been punched in the gut. Scully is a beautiful woman, and I suppose I have the face the possibility that I'm not the only reporting agent Skinner has kissed – that I'm not nearly as special to him as I thought I was. I shake my head, refocusing on the exchange between the two.

"These people are doing their job."

"What they're doing is putting an official stamp on the perpetuation of a lie."

"These people have a protocol to follow, which is something you and Agent Mulder did not do."

"What about the people who were poisoning Agent Mulder's water – whose protocol was that?" Scully isn't backing down. In fact, it looks like she's a hair away from an explosion of rage.

"The investigation," Skinner begins.

"The investigation will be an exercise," Scully exclaims. "The men who killed Agent Mulder, the people who killed his father, they aren't meant to be found."

"We will find them," Skinner insists, hoping to placate Scully, no doubt.

"With all due respect, Sir, I think you overestimate your position in the chain of command." With that, she storms out, and I'm left in her wake with Skinner, who merely glances at me and heads back into his office. I suppose I shouldn't have expected him to sweep me off my feet, given how cold he's been, but it would have been nice to at least be acknowledged.

I rush down the hallway to catch up with a steaming mad Scully. After making her promise to keep me updated with how she's doing and if she needs anything from me, I let her go her way. As much as I want to spend all day with her, keeping her safe and letting her vent, I do have cases I need to work.

And yet, a few hours later, those cases have to be put on hold again as I'm called into Skinner's office. I was hoping for a one-on-one meeting, so my hopes sink when I see a similar assembly of people that populated my last few briefings.

"Agent Simonson, have a seat," Skinner mumbles. I don't hesitate to do so. Another man begins questioning me.

"Agent, I'm sure you're aware about Agent Scully's situation – that she's been suspended until the full contents of her insubordination can be examined."

"I knew the gist, yes."

"We need to know what you know about her unauthorized investigation." I shrug.

"I didn't know much. Didn't know anything, actually. Just that Agent Mulder and Agent Scully thought their work might be putting them in danger."

"You visited Agent Scully at her home last night, is that correct?" My face goes white.

"How are my personal interactions the business of this investigation?" The room is silent.

"We need to have a better idea of what you might know," Skinner answers quietly. Did he tell them? Why would he give them that leverage over me – it's obvious now that I'm lying about how much I know; Scully and I would have talked about the investigation.

"Yes, I visited her. I brought her dinner and kept her company since she was grieving the loss of her partner."

"What about the case did you discuss during that time?"

"Just that Scully detected someone tampering with the water in Agent Mulder's building, that she encountered a known fugitive lurking around said building, and that on her drive back to DC she was intercepted by an unmarked helicopter and accosted by unidentified soldiers. You know, just usual girl talk," I add with a sarcastic smile.

"The commentary is unnecessary, Agent Simonson," the man chides me. I bite my cheek to keep my anger in check. "Did you discuss the contents or whereabouts of a digital tape?"

"No," I state confidently. These people don't deserve the truth.

"In regards to Agent Mulder's alleged death, what did Agent Scully tell you about that?"

"Just that she was certain he was dead."

"Did she see his body?"

"Not that I know."

"Do you have any evidence that Agent Mulder is dead and not just attempting to avoid facing the consequences of his actions?"

"Well, his partner is pretty distraught. And I trust her judgement and assessment." That seems to end the rest of that infuriating line of questioning. They're trying to declare Agent Mulder as "missing," damnit, so they don't have to search for a murderer. There's a few blissful seconds of silence. "Was there anything else? I do have casework I need to get back to."

"You may go, Agent Simonson," Skinner dismisses me. I rise and leave without another word or a backward glance.

When I finally get home at the end of the day, I call Scully's home in case she needs to talk or needs anything, but I get her machine. I guess she's not at home. I leave a message all the same, just letting her know I called and wanted to know if she's okay. Hopefully that will help her feel less alone.

As I'm making dinner, my cell phone rings. I don't recognize the number, but I pick up anyways.

"Hello?"

"Are you free to meet?" It's obviously Skinner's voice, but he didn't identify himself, and the tension in his voice sounds so peculiar…it almost sounds like fear.

"I-yes. What about?"

"We can talk about that later. Come to the Jefferson memorial at 8 PM." The line then goes dead, but my insides are buzzing. What on earth does he want to meet about? And at such a touristy location? Eight o'clock can't come soon enough. I'm unsure what to wear – is this business or pleasure? I play it safe with a loose-fitting sweater and jeans. But I also bring my gun.

Once I meet him, it's obvious from the tension in his body that this is business. He approaches me stiffly.

"Would you like to go for a drive? I'm parked nearby." I examine his features for a few moments, trying to ascertain what this is about.

"Yes," I say, with minimal hesitation. He leads me to where he parked his car, and as we move away from the well-lit tourist stop towards the road, my hand lingers on my weapon. But, he opens the door for me and then gets in himself, and nothing seems amiss, other than him asking to spend time with me, and I try to relax. He starts the car and beings driving on the quiet roads.

"So, what is this about?" I get the courage to ask after he's been silent for a few minutes.

"This digital tape everyone has been so concerned about…it may or may not be in my possession." My eyes go wide.

"What's on it?" I ask a little breathlessly. At the news and at the significance of his confiding in me.

"I couldn't say," he grumbles. "It's in some sort of code. But I need your help to keep it safe."

"Why me?" I can't help but ask.

"Because you're one of the few people I know I can trust." My heart beats faster at that than it has any good reason to.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Right now, I'm one of the last people they would suspect to have it. I need you to keep it that way. If Scully starts sniffing around, try to keep her off the trail until the attention on her has calmed down."

"Okay," I answer automatically.

"And do your best to keep Scully safe, too. If Mulder is dead, she's one of the last people who can keep trying to uncover this mystery."

"I will," I answer solemnly. I realize he's been driving towards the section of the city where I live. "Go right," I tell him, correctly assuming, it seems, that he's going to drop me off at my building.

"One last thing – when you can, please stakeout Mulder's building. If they're as desperate for this tape as they seem, someone will try to search Mulder's apartment as soon as they can. It'd be good to catch them in the act." I nod in understanding. He hands me a photograph of a stoic, smooth-faced man. "Keep an eye out especially for this man."

"Is this Krychek?" He looks at me curiously. "Scully told me a bit about him."

"Yeah, that's him, the son of a bitch." For some reason, hearing Skinner swear sends a thrill down my spine.

"Left here," I tell him, directing him to my place. I have half a mind to give him the wrong directions and stay with him here all night. There's something about him that makes me hate to part with him. And it's not just his sexy hands and sexy eyes and the sexy way he carries himself – it's something more, but I can't put my finger on what.

But no, I lead him to my place. He pulls into a parking space but leaves the engine running. I reach for the door handle before I realize that this is the first time the two of us are alone – properly alone – since the…incident in the gym. I turn to him, intending to actually discuss what happened.

"Skinner, I-"

"It's late, you should get some sleep, Agent." His tone is clipped, and his dark eyes are guarded. He must have guessed what I was going to do, and he clearly has no intention of having that conversation.

"Goodnight," I call as I leave the car and his intoxicating presence. There's too much going on right now to be distracted by my sexuality, but there are some things a woman just can't help. Stupid, puppy-dog crush on my superior agent who only notices me when there's no one else. I kick myself all the way to my apartment for my foolish infatuation.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I apologize for the hiatus, but I'm back!**

Chapter 23

The next few days are pretty quiet, but my mind keeps repeating _Skinner has the tape Skinner has the tape Skinner has the tape._ I'm half worried I'm just going to blurt the phrase out whenever someone speaks to me, even just saying "good morning." Perhaps Skinner shouldn't have trusted me after all. But it's good I know – if he suddenly goes missing, at least I will know why and that'll give a head start on the investigation, god forbid.

On the third day, as I'm typing up a report, Scully pops into my office. She unfolds a newspaper fragment on my desk.

"Simonson, check out this article. It's dated two days after Mulder's disappearance. If the bullets from this murder and the murder of Mulder's father match, it automatically proves Mulder is innocent." I take a few minutes to read the article.

"That's promising, I-"

"I told Skinner about it, but the bastard refused to follow the lead." I wince at the language and hope Scully doesn't notice. "Will you check the database yourself? I know there should have been a notification in the system, but just in case."

"I will, I promise. And I'll call you with the results." She nods a few times.

"What are you doing the rest of the day?" She sighs heavily.

"Mr. Mulder's funeral is today. But no, you can't go with me," she says before I get the chance to ask. "Only one of us is suspended."

"Alright, if you're sure you don't need the company." She nods. I make her promise to call me if she needs anything, and I run the ballistics results in the database before I do anything else, but there's no match. I leave a voicemail on her cellphone, and after a quick dinner at my apartment, head over to Mulder's place for some stakeout time.

I don't expect to see anything since if these goons were smart they'd go during the day when most people are at work, but you never know. And at least I feel like I'm doing _something._ To my surprise, about an hour into my watch, I see a light go on in Mulder's apartment. The hair on my skin stands on end, and after a quick check of my surroundings, I head into the building, taking the stairs. My pulse is pounding as I climb the last flight and not because of the physical exertion.

I round the corner of the stairwell and see a man standing in front of Mulder's door. He must be the lookout, and there's something very familiar about him. I'm about to call out, identifying myself as FBI, when my brain short-circuits.

"Mulder?" I cry. He looks over at the sound of my voice, and my eyes go wide. It really is him. My hand covers my mouth and tears well in my eyes. He presses one finger to his lips, and I remember the intruders in his apartment. I stalk over to the door, keeping my gun drawn. But now that Mulder's at my side, I'm hardly afraid anymore. Behind the door, I can hear shouting, and it almost sounds like…

Mulder unlocks the deadbolt and then kicks the door open.

"Drop it!" he yells, and I follow behind him, shocked to find Scully and Skinner with their guns pointed at each other.

"What the hell is going on?" I exclaim, taking in the scene. Scully has her gun on Skinner, Skinner has his gun on her, and Mulder has Skinner. I stand with my gun at my side.

"I was warned someone would try to kill me – someone I trusted," Scully says, not taking her eyes off Skinner.

"No one is going to kill anyone, for god's sake everyone put your guns down. We're on the same team." No one moves. I sigh. "Skinner has the tape," I say, ignoring the glare he shoots my way, "so you really don't want to kill him, and he's definitely not going to kill you." Slowly, the three of them lower their weapons. Glad that tension is resolved.

"You have the tape?" Scully asks.

"Yes. I took it out of Agent Mulder's desk." Scully and Mulder exchange a glance – Skinner must be telling the truth, and they know it since that's where they hid it. Not a very good hiding spot, I think to myself.

"Hand it over to Scully," Mulder orders.

"No way. This is the only leverage we've got – we can't risk this falling back into their hands." Mulder is quiet for a few seconds.

"Then you'd better make sure it doesn't. C'mon, Scully, let's go."

"Where are you two going? You just got back!"

"There's truths to find that aren't on that tape."

"Can I come with? You two will probably need all the backup you can get."

"No," Skinner and Mulder say in unison. They then both glance at the other, seemingly communicating something.

"You should stay with the tape and help keep it safe," Mulder says. I look at Skinner and nod. Skinner and I follow the reunited partners out of the apartment. At the parking lot, we hesitate.

"I…do you think it would be best if we stuck together?" I ask. He is silent for so long I'm worried I was so out of line he's contemplating firing me.

"Probably," he finally mumbles. "I'll follow you to your place, and you can pick up some clothes, and then we can carpool to mine." I nod in agreement and head to my car.

* * *

 _This was a bad idea._ I'm idling outside her building while she grabs her things, and my heart is already beating double time. It would have been rude to tell her I didn't need her help, I rationalize to myself. But I know the real reason I said yes was to torture myself a little more by being in her presence. Alone. In my apartment. I clench the steering wheel. Honestly, what was I thinking? I have barely been able to stop replaying that kiss every time I see her. _I'm her superior agent, I'm her superior agent,_ I repeat in an attempt to keep my thoughts and feelings professional.

When she comes out of the building empty handed and looking quite panicked, I know something has gone wrong. I really shouldn't be relieved, but this probably means postponing being alone with her at my place.

"Can you drop me by Sibley Hospital? Scully just called – her sister has been shot."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Skinner drops me off at the hospital after an utterly silent drive. I make it up to Melissa's room in record time. I never met Scully's sister, but my heart still breaks seeing her lying motionless in the hospital bed. I knock softly on the door, trying not to startle Mrs. Scully, but she jerks upright all the same, whipping around. Hoping to find her other daughter at the door and not a stranger, no doubt.

"Mrs. Scully, I'm sorry to intrude. My name is Laila; I work with Dana." I barely have the words out, and she's already launching questions.

"Is she okay? Do you know where she is? Why isn't she here?"

"Dana is okay, but she can't be here right now. She's trying to find whoever did this to her sister. She wanted me to tell you that she's sorry she can't be here with you, but that she is safe." The sorrow in her mother's eyes is unbearable.

"Do you know when she will be able to come?"

"I'm sorry, I don't." Her shoulders sag. "If it's alright with you, I would like to stay nearby to keep an eye on Melissa, just to make sure whoever shot her doesn't..." I can't finish the sentence, so my voice trails off awkwardly, but she gets the drift and nods.

"That's more than fine. I'll have a chair brought in-"

"No, please don't trouble yourself. I can get my own chair," I say with a smile and hurry out. I'd much rather be wading into danger with Mulder and Scully than deal with a grieving mother, but apparently me going along wasn't an option, I think with more than a little resentment. I bring a chair in from the hallway, and I position it in a corner across from the hospital bed so I have a clear view of the door but also will be as unobtrusive as possible. Mrs. Scully has already closed her eyes again, so I take my vigil. To keep myself awake, I let my thoughts wander.

Why were both Mulder and Skinner in agreement that I shouldn't go? Do they see me as some helpless female, useless agent? I bite my lip with anger. Sure, I had a rocky start with the Bureau, but I did save Mulder's life. But then I did get attacked and almost lost the last piece of crucial evidence in a case. And maybe I shouldn't have admitted to Skinner that I did need Mulder's presence to keep me safe on the military base. I bet they're both sick of having to babysit me and thought I couldn't look out for myself during this dangerous mission. I blink back the burning behind my eyes. They don't treat Scully that way; I guess she's a better agent than I am. Shamefully, I have to beat down flares of envy. I just want to be respected as an equal.

A sinking feeling in my stomach disrupts my pity-party. This is the feeling I've begun to associate with primal fear – an instinctual warning of danger. I turn my entire attention to the door, but no one appears. All the same, the feeling remains. As I watch, a hard-faced man dressed in a suit paces by the room. The concern that had been lurking flares up – whoever this man is, he is clearly out of place in this wing of the hospital. Not twenty minutes later, he paces by again, glancing inside the room. I meet his gaze and don't blink until he's out of view again. I don't want to interrupt whatever Mulder and Scully are up to, and I don't want to wake up Skinner, but I will definitely call Skinner in the morning about this. As for Mulder and Scully – I'll wait to tell them once they're safely back from their mission. I don't want to worry Scully more than she already is.

I stay alert through the night. It is only when sunlight begins creeping through the blinds on the window that I am able to relax marginally. Now that there is going to be more personnel at the hospital and more visitors, those with sinister intentions are less likely to make a move lest they be seen by chance.

Mrs. Scully begins to stir, and I head outside with a promise to get some breakfast from the cafeteria. On my way down, I phone Skinner. It's just past dawn, but I know he'll already be up. In fact, I'm surprised when he doesn't pick up his office phone. I'm able to reach him on his cell, but the reception is funny. All I can get across is that Melissa's hospital room is definitely being watched. I take it he will relay to Scully to prevent her from coming and putting herself in danger.

When I return with pancakes and scrambled eggs (and coffee for myself), there is a man I don't recognize in the room – and he clearly is not a hospital doctor or a hired suit.

"Hello?" I ask, setting the tray of food down by Mrs. Scully.

"Hello, I am Albert. Are you also an FBI woman?" Based on the man's age, dress, and slight accent, I figure this must be the code-talker Mulder and Scully met to try to translate the tape.

"I am. You know Mulder and Scully?" He nods solemnly.

"I do. Mulder contacted me and asked me to come here. I have come to pray for the FBI woman's sister."

"Thank you," I say. He must have come a long way. Now that two people are in the room, I am considering relieving myself from watch when I see that same man pass the room again. I try to keep my expression neutral, but I know Albert notices how my face darkens. We exchange a slight glance – it seems Albert has noticed the man as well – but say nothing in front of Mrs. Scully.

"Thank you very much for the food, Laila."

"Of course, it was no trouble. I'm going to make a few phone calls." I want an excuse to step out of the room, and I wait around a corner near some supply closets. The next time the man passes, I wait thirty seconds and then follow him. I need to confirm my hunch. I stay far enough behind that I hope he won't notice my presence. Sure enough, he paces the hospital without entering or looking into another room. As we round the hallway that leads to Melissa's room, I hang back to see if I can observe anything from a different perspective.

I'm certain now – his pace slows when he passes the room, and he gazes in very purposefully. In fact, he must notice my absence, for after he walked by the doorway, he turns around. I duck behind the corner, hopefully fast enough that he did not see me watching him. I would prefer that he not know he had been spotted – he might do something reckless if he thinks he's been made. My recognizance is done now, and I jog back to the room once he's rounded the other corner. I've begun to think that he's monitoring for Dana to come by, not for a chance to hurt Melissa. With that in mind, and since Albert is here, I give both Mrs. Scully and Albert my card.

"I need to head into the office for a while. Call me if you have any concerns about anything." Albert nods slowly with understanding.

The second I make it to the Hoover Building, I'm knocking on Skinner's door.

"What is it, Agent?"

"Can we talk?" I try not to pay attention to how he's less than a foot away from me.

"Come in." He opens his door wider, but doesn't move from the doorway. I slip inside, brushing so slightly against his dress shirt.

"What is it you needed to see me about?"

"How are things with Mulder and Scully? Have you heard from them?" He nods once, short.

"Yes. They found a filing system of medical records going back years." My eyebrows shoot up. "And apparently they were chased out of there by a paramilitary force."

"What are they going to do now?" That's proof at least, good hard proof the government is doing something it's not supposed to be…which makes my stomach drop and my skin crawl.

"Well, we're going to make a deal – the tape for their reinstatement." I catch my breath at that – all this trouble for this tape and we're just going to hand it over? "Something you'd like to say, Agent?" I feel my face flushing; I guess I had not concealed the direction of my thoughts.

"It just seems, with all due respect, that the tape is valuable, perhaps more valuable to discovering the truth than anything else."

"But what good is the truth if you die for it?" His voice is softer than I've heard it for a while, more patient. My eyes drop at that, thinking of Melissa in the hospital bed and Mulder's father.

"People already have."

"Too many. Mulder and Scully can find out more than we can find on any tape – which was obtained illegally anyways, so it would be of no use in court." I nod.

"I'll trust that's the right call – you, Mulder, and Scully have more experience with these matters." There's a moment of silence, and I want to ask him so many things – why doesn't he trust me, why doesn't he think I'm a good agent, why would he kiss me and then pretend that it didn't happen? Finally, I just say, "Melissa's doctors say she's getting better, but the Navajo man whom Mulder asked to come to the hospital is not so sure she is."

"And this man you saw watching the room, what about him?"

"He seemed…out of place. He kept passing by the room at regular intervals, very stiff, I followed him around the floor once and didn't see him go into any room or pay attention any other room. I suspect he's waiting to see if Dana arrives." Skinner nods.

"You're probably right. All the same, if you don't have any pressing casework, you should go back, just to be sure he's not there to kill Scully's sister."

"I can head back."

"Good." I know I should leave, but I feel like there's more to talk about. That or I just don't want to leave his presence. "I'll stop by the hospital when I get the chance, give my regards to Scully's mother." I nod once.

"Well, I'll see you there then I guess," I say and awkwardly take my leave.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: To make up for my hiatus and because the last chapter was kinda slow, here's the second update in one night! :)**

Chapter 25

A few hours later, Skinner walks into the hospital room. I try not to let my heart flutter. He's not wearing his glasses, and I find that makes him look so much more delectable.

"Mrs. Scully? I'm Assistant Director Skinner with the FBI-"

"Where's Dana? Is she okay?" the mother asks immediately.

"She is, but she's in a bit of trouble. We're working on rectifying the situation so she can come back to work." Before Mrs. Scully can ask more questions, I see the suspicious man approach again.

"Skinner," I whisper with a nod to the hallway. He turns in time to make eye contact with the man as well as get a good look at his face.

"If you would excuse us," he says, beckoning me to follow him. Seeing that the man seems to have disappeared, Skinner heads in the only direction that shows signs of movement – a swinging door. Some instinct takes him down the hall and into a stairwell. I want to ask him how he knows where to go, what we're going to do when we find the man, but he definitely does not need to be pestered with my questions right now.

As Skinner hurries down the stairs, I pause to check the doors we pass. I'm a few steps behind him when a man jumps out of the door on the next landing. Skinner shoves that man off just as two more men pounce on him from the stairs below. As I'm pulling out my gun, one of the attackers lunges at me, knocking my gun from my hands and throwing me against the wall.

My face slams into the concrete, and I taste blood. I try to get to my feet, but my attacker twists my arm behind me and forces me to my knees. He twists my arm back even farther, and a pained yelp escapes me while I hear Skinner being hit. I hear a gun cock and the cold feel of metal against my scalp. The commotion above me has stopped, but I can't quite see since blood is flowing past one of my eyes, and I dare not move a muscle to reposition my neck.

"Get on your knees," the man behind me orders. But I'm already on my knees? Wait, Skinner sinks to his knees. I can now see his face – he's bleeding from the corner of his mouth, and I don't think I've ever seen him so angry. "The tape," the man yells, "or should I shoot her and then take the tape from you?" Skinner reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the cassette. I whimper a little. "Give it to the man behind you." He does. "Nice doing business with you," the man snarls. I see the man behind Skinner deliver a powerful blow to his head, and then I hear a crack, and I'm falling to the floor, my vision fading.

I wake up on the floor, sticky blood coating the side of my face. I come to dizzy, but I jump to my feet, looking for Skinner. He's slumped on the floor, also bleeding.

"Skinner!" I call and gently move him. God, he'd better be alive. His eyes flicker open. Thank god. "I'm going to go get a nurse, stay here." He mumbles something, but it's not comprehensible. I make it up one flight of stairs before the contents of my stomach spill on the concrete. I hope he didn't see that, but I doubt I'll be so lucky. I force my stomach into obedience and manage to get some paramedics into the stairwell. Having a head wound seemed to help get a nurse's attention.

Things are foggy, but I know the scrapes on my face from the concrete wall and floor are cleaned. Once treated, the wound on my temple stopped bleeding pretty easily. The doctor attending me wants to give me an MRI, but I need to know if Skinner is okay.

"I need to see him. Where is he, the man I was with?"

"Down the hall, but then you're getting an MRI." I wave away his concerns and stumble down the hallway. They wanted to put me in a hospital gown, but I refused. I'd rather wear my bloodied clothes than one of those flimsy things.

"Skinner," I barge into the room, breathing a sigh of relief at seeing him intact and awake. A doctor is examining his torso, looking for internal bleeding. I should be ashamed at catching the sight of my boss shirtless, but I continue into the room unabashed.

"Miss, excuse me, but I'm trying to conduct an examination," the doctor says snidely.

"It's okay, she can stay," Skinner says. His voice is hoarse. "How are you?"

"I'm okay. How are you?"

"My head hurts like the devil."

"Yeah, join the club," I say with a sardonic smile.

"You'll be sore the next few days, but other than some bruising and the concussion you should be fine. I'll be right back with your papers." Skinner goes to put on his shirt, but a low groan escapes him.

"Here, let me help," I insist, hurrying over to the examination table. I ignore that my head is swimming. I grab the shirt and gently guide his bare arms through the sleeves and bring the flaps together at his chest. I catch sight of the scrapes on his abdomen and the bruising that's already begun to appear.

"Skinner, I'm so, so sorry. This is all my fault," I whisper. One of his hands gently cups my head and moves my chin up so I'm looking him in the eyes.

"Laila, I promise you it's not."

"But you're hurt, and Mulder and Scully, the tape," I try to convey my fears and guilt.

"What matters is that you're okay. The way Krychek handled you, you could have walked away with a lot worse," he says, voice hardening at the name.

"If I could have handled myself, we wouldn't have lost the tape." I can't help that my eyes are welling up with tears.

"No, it wouldn't have made a difference – there were too many of them." I bite my lip to fight back the tears.

"What are we going to do now though to get them safe again?" I manage to keep my voice from cracking more than once.

"I'll figure something out, I promise." I'm able to look into his eyes for the first time in a few minutes. I'm shocked by the depth of the kindness I see there.

"I wish you didn't have to – that I - I was a good enough agent you didn't have to."

"I can only name a handful of agents who could have made a difference in that situation – you don't have to compare yourself to them. You're a great agent, and the work you do is invaluable."

"Do you really mean that?" I can't help but smile a little.

"Yes." The sincerity in his voice convinces me. And I'm comforted enough to return to the task of buttoning his shirt, but now I'm very, very aware of how close we are. Of how my fingers brush against his toned skin occasionally, how his lips are a few inches from mine. It's so unbelievably inappropriate for me to feel electricity at the touch of his bare skin, but I can't help the blush that's creeping over my cheeks. He's an attractive man, and I can't deny it. I realize my heart has started racing, and it's making my hands unsteady. I'm struggling with the buttons more than I could expect. His hands cover mine, stilling my attempts.

"Laila," he whispers. I flick my eyes up to his, and my blush only intensifies at the tenderness in his dark, hurt eyes. My breath is starting to come heavy, and before I know what I'm doing, I'm on my tip toes leaning in. Our lips meet, and the fire inside me flares. I press my mouth more firmly against his and grab the lapels of his half-buttoned shirt. His hands grab my waist and pull me closer. I move as close up to the exam table as I am able, needing to be as close to him as possible. I tilt my head to the side and deepen our kiss while one of his hands creeps down my back.

My hands run down his chest, and he moans into my mouth. I freeze for a second, thinking it was a sound of pain, but the heat from his touch reassures me as he grabs on to whatever of me he can get a hold of. I lean my head back as he kisses at my neck and his hands push the suit jacket off me.

"Skinner," I moan unbidden as his lips cover my skin with desire. I move his head back so I can resume kissing his lips. His hands have made their way to my breasts, and I can't help but trail a hand down to his crotch. There is a knock at the door.

We hurriedly break apart, remembering ourselves, but we're both panting and flushed. I can barely meet the heat of his gaze.

"Ms. Simonson, I need to give you that MRI," my doctor insists. I look at Skinner, silently asking permission to stay.

"Go, I'll be fine," he assures me.

"It'll only take a few minutes," my doctor says. Reluctantly, I leave Skinner. He and I must have looked like quite the pair of distraught and frantic lovers – making out despite our copious injuries – his far more plentiful than mine.

When I get out of the MRI – which reveals a concussion but nothing more serious – I find Skinner has already been released from his examination. His doctor hands me my discarded jacket with only a hint of judgement. I head to Melissa Scully's room to find Skinner holding himself as stiffly as ever, talking to the Navajo man. Skinner sees me approach, and for a second our eyes meet, his gaze hard as ever. The drastic change almost makes me gasp. A minute ago his eyes burned so hot I was almost consumed – now they're ice cold. Skinner shakes his head almost imperceptibly, so I linger nearby out of hearing, waiting for their conversation to stop.

"Agent Simonson, you need to go home," Skinner says in his most Assistant Director tone.

"Skinner, I," I say, taking a few steps towards him, but he holds up a hand.

"Go home. That's an order." Are we not even going to mention what just happened? I'm boggled. This concussion doesn't help. "Please," he adds, his tone softening microscopically.

"Yes, Sir," I mumble and head down the hallway and out of the hospital.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

When I arrive at my apartment building, Mulder and Scully jump out of her car, nearly giving me a heart attack and making me drop my keys.

"Laila, what happened?" Scully asks, rushing forward. I realize my face tells it all. I open my mouth, trying to explain, but the words are hard to come by.

"We were attacked," I manage to say before my throat closes up with emotion. "I'm so sorry," I choke out, unlocking the building door. If I had to guess, the two of them exchanged a glance and are now following me to the elevator.

"The tape?" Mulder asks. His voice is harsh but not as intensely as I feared it would be. I was hoping Skinner would do this part. I nod, and then have to brace myself against the wall to keep steady.

"What happened to you?" Scully asks, wrapping an arm around my waist and letting me lean on her. I sigh.

"I got very acquainted with a stairwell wall. And then also with the floor," I say sardonically. As we rise to my floor, Scully pushes up my eyelids to examine me.

"And with all that acquainting, it seems you got a concussion," she says. I wave her off.

"Yeah, the doctors said already. Mine's worse than Skinner's, but he took the brunt of the punches." I'm at my door now, fumbling with my keyring.

"Did this happen at the hospital?" Mulder asks. I nod.

"Yeah. We tried to follow the suspicious man and got ambushed. I should have done better…" I hear myself mumbling.

"Were you able to get a look at any of their faces?" Mulder asks, interrupting my pity party. I manage to get the door open and let us in. Scully helps me to the couch while Mulder takes the armchair.

"I saw the first one for a few seconds, but the next two I only saw for maybe half a second each. Oh," I say with a snap of my fingers, "Skinner must have seen them better because he knew one of them, said his name even." Another partner glance, no doubt.

"Krychek?" Mulder says.

"That's the one." I hope I didn't say anything wrong, but the tension in the room seems to have skyrocketed.

"The next time I get the chance to kill the son-of-a-bitch I'm not going to waste it," Mulder curses. Scully just sighs.

"Without the tape," she begins. I hang my head. "What do we do now?"

"Skinner said he would figure something out – and he very well might. He's very smart. Smart enough to know I can't be trusted with any actual duties." There's a tense silence that only confirms my fears. Scully changes the subject.

"Is it okay if Mulder and I crash here for a few hours? We need to lay low."

"Yes, of course you can. Always welcome to. Eat anything you can find – I haven't gone grocery shopping in two weeks." Mulder has made it to the fridge.

"Living off of takeout, I see." That gets a small smile out of me.

"Nothing wrong with that, is there?" I manage to joke.

"Let me get you some water, and you can lie down. With concussions you need to rest."

"Alright." My apartment is small enough that the direction of my bedroom is evident. "Excuse the mess." I forgot how messy I had left the place – clothes strewn about, pizza boxes, mail.

"Struggling to balance work-personal life?" Scully says while picking a path through the debris.

"What gave you that idea?" I grumble. I lie down, and Scully gets me a glass of water.

"Let's get you out of these clothes," she says and helps me peel off my bloodied pantsuit and step into some sweats and a t-shirt she finds on the floor. I wince as I reach my arm back to unclasp my bra.

"Thank you. You and Mulder are welcome to spend the night here. You can join me in bed and Mulder can take the couch, or you and he can have the bed if you prefer, and I-"

"It's not like that," she says with a gentle smile. I just shrug and climb under the covers. I'm exhausted.

"Scully, I am so sorry that I lost the tape. I should have known-"

"Hey, YOU didn't lose it. Skinner was the one dumb enough to keep it on his person during a chase." I just shake my head.

"I wish I was as good an agent as you are. Maybe then we would still have the tape. Maybe then Mulder and Skinner would trust me with actual investigative work." I feel the mattress sag slightly as she sits down.

"Simonson, since you apparently haven't realized yet, Skinner and Mulder are doing their best to shelter you. Not that I agree with that approach, but they're not doing it because they don't trust you or don't think you're capable. It seems they've decided to be protective of you." I scoff.

"But that's ridiculous." I puff air through my nose. "I don't need protecting." She smiles sympathetically.

"You could try telling them that, but I don't know how much it will help. You're young and beautiful, and men, no matter how progressive they may be, tend to infantilize such women."

"But you're beautiful, and you can't be more than 35, and they don't..." I trail off as I realize how protective Mulder can be of Scully. At least Skinner seems to treat her as an equal.

"As you get more cases under your belt and prove you can take care of yourself, they'll ease up a bit. But this x-files stuff – you've seen how deadly it can be. Involve yourself if you want, but by no means feel like you have to."

"I need to know the truth, and I don't mind putting myself in danger to find it." She nods.

"You'd best make that clear to them – they'll stop being cavemen eventually," she assures me. I chuckle at that. "Now you rest." I nod and am asleep almost as soon as I close my eyes.

I wake only a few times the rest of the evening – once to whispered conversation in the living room, once when Scully brings me food, and once when she wakes me up just to check on me.

In the morning, I wake up to sun streaming into the window. I rub my eyes and stretch. That's odd – I'm usually eating breakfast before the sun makes it over the horizon. A glance at the clock on my nightstand tells me I overslept.


End file.
